


Cursed Be this Soul (that Ties Us Together)

by writing_as_tracey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Brandon Stark is a manwhore, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dimension Travel, F/M, Gen, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Pre-Canon, Pre-Game of Thrones, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Robert's Rebellion, Romantic Soulmates, Set during HP canon, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, genre: angst, genre: fantasy, genre: romance, rarepair?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-05-20 06:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 90,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14889266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_as_tracey/pseuds/writing_as_tracey
Summary: "Invisible threads are the strongest ties"- Friedrich Nietzsche.Across universes, Hermione meets her soulmate through time and space; the ties that bind them together could be the very thing they need or it could destroy them both. 20 years later, they reunite - but when you play the game of thrones, add magic and a young metamorphmagus, things are never as they seem in Westeros.





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> The rare-pair soulmate AU x-over that no one asked for.

[ ](http://s32.photobucket.com/user/TraceyT86/media/soulmark_zpsxckjdzhj.jpg.html)

 Cursed Be this Soul (that Ties Us Together)

* * *

_Five:_

Not everyone had soulmate marks.

It was a cultural phenomenon that occurred in every one in five, the not having a mark, and theoretically, there was nothing wrong with that.

At least, that's what her mum told her, often and constantly, especially when Hermione would come home from nursery crying that all the other children had symbols and names all over their bodies -  _on shoulders, wrists, hips, chests_  - and that she was going to grow old and die without ever meeting  _that_  one.

Until the day Hermione woke up and found her soulmark.

It was a weekend, the start of summer term, and her father had promised to take her to the British Museum because they had a new exhibit about medieval agriculture - or horticulture - or maybe it was something, but "culture" was definitely implied, and Hermione, who absorbed all kinds of knowledge,  _needed_  to go.

That morning, she brushed her teeth (one minute, each side, inside and outside, like her dentist mother taught her), and as she looked at her reflection on the step stool, from behind incredibly bushy hair and bleary eyes, she saw something strange on the inside of her right wrist.

She spat out the mint toothpaste, blinking and rubbing at her eye with her left hand to rub the sleep from it, and stared at the bruise-like mark.

 _But it's not a bruise_ , she thought, fascination growing within as she carefully set her toothbrush down - still frothy with paste - to run her left fingers over the howling wolf within a shield, a stack of books with a baton beneath the wolf. It was her soulmark, the merging of  _her_  with her other half, the symbols that represented them.

Giddy, she returned to brushing her teeth, but it was hard from behind a wide, beaming smile.

And later, when she whipped through the medieval section at the museum, she examined each and every shield she could find, to see if any matched the same design on her wrist; to see if there were any famous wolves.

She wouldn't stop searching for several years to come.

* * *

_Nine:_

Ned was nine the first time he ever saw - and officially met - his soulmate.

Brandon, at eleven, had just left after his Name Day to foster with House Ryswell, and his two younger siblings, Lyanna and Benjen, were barely six and five. They were hardly of an age to play with him!

Sulking, Ned hid in the Broken Tower, at its base, kicking at the dirt with his feet. He was hiding there before returning to the Eyrie, where he was fostering. He had only come back to see Brandon for his Name Day, but the meeting had been short, now that he was gone, too.

A soft sound of surprise had his head dart up.

"Who're you?" he asked, eyeing the girl with very bushy brown hair in strange boy's clothes.

She eyed him just as strangely. "Who're  _you_?" she retorted, bossily. She placed her hands on her hips and stuck out her lower chin. "Where am I? How did I get here?"

Beyond her strange clothes, she also  _sounded_  strange - not Northern at all, and her two front teeth were very large, almost giving her a slight lisp. She was so demanding though! Like Lyanna when she wanted to get her way and expected it, but Ned had never seen her before.

"You're in Winterfell," he answered carefully. "What House are you from? I've never seen you before. Did you come with your Lord Father?"

"My  _what_?" she gapped at him. "House? Um… I suppose Granger. That's my last name. You  _are_  asking for my last name, aren't you?"

Ned nodded slowly. "Aye, my Lady."

She laughed. "I'm not a lady! I'm Hermione. How do you do?"

She stuck out her hand and he looked down at it, and then her, and then stepped forward quickly and grabbed it, kissing the back. She snatched her hand back and held it to her chest.

"What was that for?" she snapped.

"You offered it!" he replied hotly.

"Not for a kiss! Don't you know  _anything_?" she asked, her ire turning to exasperation. She shook her head and her hair flowed everywhere.

 _That was rather fascinating_ , thought Ned, but then he realized what she said and scowled. "I'm not stupid! You take that back!"

"I didn't say you were  _stupid_ ," the girl - Lady Hermione - practically gasped. "I wouldn't!"

The two scowled and eyed each other in the Broken Tower, glowering and Ned was unable to think of a retort.  _If Brandon were here,_  he thought instead,  _he'd know exactly what to say. Even Lyanna would have a response!_

"What's your name?" Hermione finally asked, inching a bit closer across the dirt floor.

He shuffled a bit, and toed the dirt, making a sweeping line. "Ned." He cleared his throat and spoke louder. "Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, son of Rickard and Lyarra."

The girl smiled, almost shyly, a complete difference to their initial words. "It's nice to meet you, Eddard."

Something compelled him to say, "Ned - ah. I'm… call me Ned."

Her two large front teeth gleamed brightly white in the dimness of the Tower. "Ned."

The two grinned at one another. Then:

"NED? WHERE ARE YOU?"

Lyanna's voice broke the companionable silence between the two, and Ned whirled to see Lyanna barge through the door at the base of the Tower, her braided hair flowing behind her and red on her cheeks.

"There you are! Old Nan is looking for you," she said, breathlessly.

"Oh!" replied Ned, turning to her. "I'm sorry -" he turned back to Hermione to apologize and offer her his arm, but the Tower was empty except for him and Lyanna, and the dirt undisturbed where she was standing.

"Ned? Is something wrong?"

Slowly, Ned shook his head, his eyes moving from the last spot he saw Hermione - "No, nothing, Lyanna. Sorry."

 _There's nothing there,_  he told himself, walking out of the Tower. He had imagined it all.

* * *

_Twelve:_

The toilets weren't her first choice to hide, but she had been coming there for the last few weeks as Halloween crept closer and closer.

"Stupid, stupid, Hermione," she chided herself, pulling her bony legs up and hugging them to her chest as she sat on the lid to the toilet. "Of  _course_  they don't want your help! Bossy know-it-all!"

Her eyes were puffy and her nose ran, and Hermione didn't need to see her reflection in the mirrors to know that she looked like the nightmare that Ron Weasley called her.

A scuffle and a bang caught her attention, but the muffled curse made her tentatively call, "Hello? Who's there?"

"... Lady Hermione?"

Blinking in shock, Hermione threw open the bathroom stall door and stared hard at the gangly-looking boy in front of her, looking in awe around the bathroom. He was taller than when she last saw him; his hair was straight, a dark, muddy brown, but his clothes -  _his clothes_! What a strange combination of hand spun wool tunics and tanned trousers, as well as leather boots… something more out of a medieval tapestry than London.

"Ned! You're here!" she blurted.

His grey eye widened, and he looked her up and down, from her Gryffindor jumper to her skirt - his eyes widened more - and her gold-and-scarlet striped knee socks.

"Lady Hermione!" he gasped. "What are you wearing?"

He shucked off his - Hermione's eyes narrowed.  _Cloak?_  - and draped it over her, covering the front of her knobby knees. He was blushing a furious red and quickly looked away.

Finally, he said, "Where are we?"

"I thought that was my line," she replied with a small smile, but then answered, "The first-floor girls' toilet."

"We're in a…" a green hue appeared on his face, "A privy?"

 _Privy?_  She mouthed. "Yes." She paused. "In Hogwarts."

"Where is that? Somewhere in the South?" asked Ned, turning to face her again. "By the way, where did you go? I asked everyone, Maester Orwen, and Father, about House Granger. No one knew anything."

"... we're in Scotland," said Hermione slowly. "That's  _north_."

Ned narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "But  _I'm_  from the North!"

The two stared at each other for a moment or two longer. Then, Ned asked, looking slightly uncomfortable, "Are you alright? Were you… um…" he gestured vaguely in her face.

Hermione blinked for a moment, and then her eyes widened and she brought both hands to her mouth. "Oh!"

She rushed to a nearby sink and stared at her reflection in dismay. Her eyes  _were_  puffy and red-rimmed, and her cheeks and nose were distinctly red. It was obvious she had been crying. Muttering under her breath, Hermione twisted the faucet and ran the cold water, just as Ned sidled up to her to look in fascination.

"It's a tap, Ned," she said, almost fondly. "Don't you have these in Winterfell?"

He looked from the tap to her, grinning. "You remembered!"

"Of course I did." She blushed and looked down at her hands, which she ran under the water and then reached up to pat her closed eyes.

Ned reached out a finger and ran it under the water, with delight on his face at how cold it was. "I wasn't sure you were real. But… I can  _feel_  this."

Hermione met his eyes - a light, warm brown and stormy grey - in the reflection of the mirror. "I thought I was hallucinating. One second I was talking to you, and then I was back in my room, at home."

"There were no marks on the dirt," agreed Ned. "But… you're real. I know it.  _How?_ "

Any answer Hermione could have given was aborted by the smashing in of the bathroom door. Wood splintered everywhere, a chunk catching Hermione's cheek and raising blood. She screamed.

A roar answered her back, and both Hermione and Ned looked up to see a large, lumbering green humanoid in leather raise its club above its head. It roared again and snuffled, taking a thundering step forward.

Hermione screamed again, but it stopped the moment Ned grabbed her hand and yanked her back, towards the stalls and behind him.

"You'll have to get through me, first, beast!" he shouted. Hermione watched as he drew a short, small dagger from his belt, holding it at waist height as he bent his knees for balance.

"Troll!" stuttered Hermione. "It's not a beast, it's a  _troll_!"

She tugged on the back of his tunic and together and backed up until Hermione was pressed against a closed stall door. "What do we do? Oh, God, what do we do?"

"Troll, beast, it makes no difference!" replied back Ned, both watching as the troll moved closer. "Just stay behind me, Lady Hermione!"

"Stay behind you!" she shrieked. "You're not a knight in shining armour, Ned! That's a  _troll_! It's a Class-4 beast! It would take an Auror out!"

Ned turned a bit to stare at Hermione. "A  _what?_ "

Just as the troll brought the club down, Ned pushed Hermione out of the way, forcing her to huddle under the sinks, while he went in the opposite direction towards the stalls, ahead of where they were pressed. Hermione kept her eyes on the gangly boy, who rolled and came up in a crouch. As he did so, the sleeve of his tunic slipped up, and there, on his right wrist, was a dirty smudge that could be mistaken for a bruise.

Hermione stared.

The troll turned, picking Ned as his target.

It raised the club again, readying its next swing when a shout had it turn in surprise. "Oy, ugly!"

Hermione's mouth dropped open as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley brandished their wands and decided to pick a fight with the bigger creature in the room, Harry lobbing a bit of wood at its head.

 _Good idea!_  She thought, turning back to tell Ned to grab something - but the stall space was empty. He was gone.

* * *

_Thirteen:_

The Eyrie wasn't so bad, and in all honesty, Ned had gotten used to it over the past few years. He had barely returned home to Winterfell, bonding with his foster-brother, Robert Baratheon, a robust young teen the same age as him; but where Ned as taciturn, Robert was gregarious, and where Ned was studious, Robert was active.

And usually, they complimented each other well, even with their differences. But sometimes, Ned just needed a bit of peace and quiet, and when they happened, he retreated to his rooms, taking a moment of reflection to stare out his bedroom window over the views of plunging cliffs and far-off forests behind the soaring peaks of the Eyrie.

"This is quite nice."

Ned almost knew to expect it and turned.

Hermione had grown, since he last saw her, just as he started to shoot up in height and put on stockier mass. Her hair was still bushy, but it was less bush and more wave, but still a honey-brown. She too had grown and was a bit more willowy than all knees and elbows, but she was still dressed as provocatively as the last.

He sighed. "Don't you wear anything that covers your knees?"

"That's not the fashion where I'm from," she said, tilting her head a bit to the side. "I did some more research, you know. In the library, that is, at Hogwarts."

"Oh?" he asked, warily.

She nodded, biting her lip. There was a moment of hesitance, and then she strode forward. Ned panicked and backed up.

"Whoa - wait - what -"

He kept retreating until his back was pressed against his desk, the edge of it pressing painfully into the small of his back as he leaned away until Hermione was standing toe-to-toe, peering up at him in amusement.

"Arm," she instructed.

"I beg your pardon?" he replied, his voice raising an octave and cracking. His eyes kept darting from hers to her lips and then to her chest, which was nearly flushed with his, and then back up to her eyes. He blushed a furious red.

"Your right arm, Ned," she huffed, reaching out for it and tugging it towards her.

Sparks shot up his arm as her bare fingers grazed his flesh and he held his breath.  _Does she feel it, too?_  He wondered, eyes searching her face, but she was intently pushing his sleeve up. Suddenly, he knew what she was looking for.

"No - no, Hermione,  _no_!" he scrambled to yank the sleeve back down with his free hand. Panic and shame welled up from his stomach and the two grappled over his sleeve, Hermione also reaching for his arm with her free hand until their limbs were tangled and she was flush against him.

They both froze.

"Please, Ned," she whispered, staring up at him, as he had several inches on her. "I just want to see - to know - your soulmark -"

" _Soulmark_?" he gapped. "Is that what you call it? It's a curse. Nothing more."

Her thin brows furrowed. "A curse? What…"

Confusion flitted across Hermione's face and she eased back from him until there were several feet between them. When Ned said nothing, Hermione rolled up the sleeve to her red jumper - which Ned noted with some distaste was in pure Lannister colour, mayhaps she was a Lannister? - baring her curse mark.

Ned stared.

"Where I'm from," she began softly, watching him, "It's called a soulmark. Some people are born without them. Most are born with them. It's a physical marking of the other half of your soul - someone who balances out all your positive and negative traits to create the perfect combination."

Ned's eyes greedily traced the shape - the familiar, family sigil of the direwolf in the shield - and then the odd additions of the books and baton, which had confused him for so long. It matched the one on his right wrist, exactly.

"Why is yours a curse mark?"

"Because almost everyone who has one never finds their other half," answered Ned, just as quietly as her. "And those that do find their other half are doomed. Their lives end painfully, and often violently. That's why we've done political alliances for thousands of years instead of love matches - to stop the destruction of paired cursemarks."

Hermione looked thoughtfully at her soulmark. "I suppose you're right…"

"My lady?" Ned's head snapped up. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she sighed, moving to sit on his bed, which made him flush. "According to my research… well, it seems that although you are my soulmate, Ned - um… well, there's no real easy way to say this - that is, I believe that - oh, bother -"

"Hermione," he said gently, stepping forward. "What?"

"I think we exist in different universes, at different times, and it's only through our mark that we have these…" she fumbled over the word, "meetings."

"Oh," said Ned, his knees a bit shaky. Then, " _oh_."

Hermione looked at him from beneath her lashes. "Yeah. Oh."

Slowly, Ned wandered over and then sat next to her on the bed. "So. We - uh - we won't actually - that is - be -"

"Together?" finished Hermione dryly. "No. I don't think so. Not unless one of us somehow ends up permanently in each other's world." She looked around. "Speaking of - where am I?"

Ned cleared his throat. "Westeros."

"Westeros," said Hermione, testing out the name.

"And... um, and you?" asked Ned, glancing shyly at Hermione from the corner of his eyes.

"Oh. Yes. Um, Britain. Er - that is, I'm currently at Hogwarts, my school," she stumbled over her words. "That is, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That's in Scotland. But I grew up in London, and that's in England, but technically both are Britain, which is another name for the United Kingdom."

"United Kingdom?" interrupted Ned, looking wide-eyed with her information dump. "How can kingdoms be united? Do they not fight if there are different kings?"

Hermione blinked. "Well, we don't have a king - we have a Queen - and she's more a figurehead than a ruler…" She sighed. "This makes no sense to you, does it?"

"No," grinned Ned. "Your world sounds so strange."

"I bet if you tried explaining yours, it would sound weird to me, too!" She ended up nudging his shoulder, he nudged hers back, and then they were both giggling and laughing.

There was a boom on his closed bedroom door, and then a loud voice, asking, "Ned? By the Gods Ned, is that a girl I hear? Are you with a girl?"

Ned winced, standing up from the bed and launching himself halfway across to avoid any embarrassment of being caught with a girl in his room. "Uh - just a moment, Robert!"

"Ned?! C'mon Ned!"

He turned to apologize to Hermione, but the bed was empty. He paused a moment and said, softly, "Goodbye, Hermione," but no one answered him.

* * *

_Fourteen:_

"You haven't been sleeping."

Hermione sighed and dropped her quill onto the library table. It made a clattering noise, but it was late at night, the library was nearly empty, and she was in a far corner, oft forgotten about by all but Madam Pince, likely.

Instead, she turned in her seat and eyed the teenager who leaned against the thick wooden shelf, his arms crossed as he frowned at her from beneath his dark brown hair, which fell into his grey eyes.

"Hello to you, too," she grumbled, turning back to her table, ignoring him. She kept her eyes forward and on the thick book in front of her, pretending to read the page, but she was merely squinting at the swirling text.

"What's this you're reading?" Ned asked, his breath warm on her cheek as he leaned over her shoulder. Hermione sat still, her heartbeat suddenly racing. "By the Gods, Hermione - what kind of text is this?"

"It's a law text," she said, snippily. "And if you excuse me, I have a lot of notes I need to take to help a friend. We're building a case, you see, against the Ministry. An odious, loathsome beast of a boy is trying to get a hippogriff executed for being itself."

Ned drew back. "A  _hippogriff_? What kind of world is this, Hermione? I know you mentioned something about… witchcraft… last time, but really?"

Sighing, Hermione swung her legs out from under the desk, hitting her knees with Ned's shins, and drew her wand from her robe pocket. " _Leviosa redire_ ," she intoned. The open books around her slammed shut and began to float back to their homes on the shelves, some near and other further away.

Ned's eyes were wide and his mouth open as he watched the books bob gently as they floated along, disappearing down the stacks.

"Gods above," he breathed, turning his eyes to her.

Hermione frowned, suddenly very afraid. Was he going to hate her? Fear her?

"That was amazing," he continued, his voice low. It was no longer cracking, but verging on a deepening. His eyes turned to her. "Hermione, what else can you do? Is that what you're here for? Are you being  _trained_?"

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes - I'm a third year, but I… I read ahead."

"And - these creatures…" Ned frowned.

"A hippogriff. Half eagle, half horse. My friend, the Groundskeeper here, Hagrid - well, he was teaching us about them and they're proud creatures, you see? And this boy - Draco Malfoy -"

Ned snorted.

Hermione grinned. "Oh, I know - anyway, he wasn't listening to the instruction, and because of it, he insulted Buckbeak, and  _of course_  Buckbeak attacked him, but he's completely fine and just playing up his injury. He's got his father - he's a very important man in the Ministry, that is - to sign off on Buckbeak's death if I can't come up with ways to help Hagrid get him off on the charge. And of course, Hagrid is  _devastated_  -"

"Hermione," said Ned gently.

"Yes?"

" _Breathe_."

Hermione flushed a bright pink. "I - oh - sorry."

Ned grinned down at her, and two dimples appeared in his cheeks. Hermione's blush deepened. He nudged her knees with his shins, urging her to go back beneath the desk. Once she did so, he slid into the empty seat beside her and tugged her notes towards him, picking up her abandoned quill, expertly handling it.

"Now," he said, "I've had quite a few lessons from my father and Maester, as well as Lord Arryn. I think between the two of us, we can figure something out to help this Buckbeak…"

* * *

_Fifteen:_

It was strange returning to Winterfell; he had lived there for eight years before being fostered in the Vale, but even though he had been with Jon Arryn for almost half his life, the Eyrie felt more like home now than the familiar walls of his birth.

 _Although_ , thought Ned darkly, he probably only felt that way because he had been summoned back for Lyanna's Name Day feast and Brandon was trying to get him to dance with Barbrey Ryswell.

"Oh, c'mon Ned," cajoled his older brother, a wicked glint in his grey eyes. He had a single arm thrown around Ned's shoulders, almost hooking around his neck as he drew his brother close. "Barbrey's great fun. And she really knows how to  _dance_."

Ned grimaced.  _How do I tell my brother I have no interest in dancing with any of these girls, least of all Barbrey Ryswell?_ "I'd really rather not, Brandon."

"What?" Brandon gasped, drawing back to eye him. He had a goblet of wine in his other hand and it sloshed a bit over the rim. "Eddy… What's wrong?"

The grimace deepened at the childhood nickname. He much preferred 'Ned.' "I just… I'm not interested in dancing."

Brandon eyed him from beneath his wild hair, messy and long. He had sideburns growing into the stubble of his beard. Ned thought he was trying to grow a mustache, too. "You're… you  _are_  interested in women, aren't you, brother?"

"Aye," grit out Ned, easing out from under Brandon's suddenly loose arm. "I just don't… I don't want to dance with Barbrey, Brandon." His mouth turned down. "Like you said, you know she…  _dances_  well. And I don't want to be a second-place prize."

Brandon's mouth thinned as he realized what Ned implied. "I see little brother." He sighed. "But if you're going to just sit here and mope, do it elsewhere would you? Our darling little sister sent me here to find out why you're so grumpy. So be grumpy out of the Hall, will you? At least until this mood of yours passes. And then come back and be prepared to spoil Lya."

Ned winced at the idea of his sister catching him in a mood. She'd be relentless in discovering why - and how could he tell her that it was because he hadn't seen his soulmate in just over a years' turn now? He rubbed his thumb over the mark and nodded once to his brother before strolling out of the Hall, weaving between drunken household guards or lesser houses, until he reached the fresh air of the dark, inner courtyard.

Torches stuck in the ground and every dozen or so feet off the walls of the castle barely lit the area. Behind, laughs and cheers, as well as the riotous sounds of the strings and instruments playing floated gently out into the cool night.

Ned took a few steps forward on the flat flagstone, ready to skip down the few steps and head left for a stroll towards the Godswood, when a swath of blue caught his attention in the dim moonlight.

Gentle sobs reached his ears, and his steps slowed. He frowned at the figure, trying to think if he was introduced to one of the Lord's daughters in such a silky blue that was far too thin for the North.

"My lady?" he called, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

Just then, she spun around and onto her feet, a wand pointed at his throat. Both blinked at one another.

" _Hermione_ ," he breathed, just as she launched herself at him, hugging him tight around the middle, and clutching at the back of his jerkin, pulling on it. He wrapped his arms around her too, tightly gathering her to his chest.

In between her snuffles, he heard a few words: " _stupid - Ron - ruined - ball!_ "

He sighed and let her cry herself out a bit more, rocking them back and forth a bit on the steps. Eventually, she came to a shuddering stop, and he drew back a bit to look down at her. Her eyes were puffy and red, and something in his chest ached. "What happened, Hermione?"

Her face nearly crumpled as tears welled in her eyes.

Ned panicked. "No - please don't - Gods, don't cry, Hermione - please - I'll fix it, somehow."

She gave a shuddery laugh and stepped back from his embrace to wipe at her eyes. Ned felt the loss keenly.

"Sorry," she said wetly. She sniffled a bit and Ned got his first full look at her as the flickering light from the torch landed on her. He sucked in a breath and his eyes went wide. Her dress was floaty, a silky blue that left her shoulders, and arms bare and hugged her curves. Her hair was up - one of the first times he had ever seen it that way - in some unique, complicated hair-do that he had never seen by any Northron or Southron woman, a portion tumbling behind her and down her back in sleek, shiny waves.

Ned swallowed thickly and forced the words to come past a numb tongue. "Hermione… you look… you look beautiful."

She ducked her head shyly and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear - something caught the light and Ned could see she had her ears pierced -  _how did I not know that?_  He thought furiously, wondering what else he had missed of her in the years they had known each other, in those brief snatches of time.

"Thanks," she mumbled her reply.

"Why are you dressed up?" he asked, thinking it was a safe question.

Hermione sighed. "It's the school's Yule Ball. They're hosting a sporting competition, and there are two other schools visiting. The… Durmstrang champion, Viktor, he asked me to be his date for the dance."

Something settled strangely in Ned's stomach, almost like he had eaten raw or bad food - but the Winterfell cooks were some of the best… "Oh. I see. Did he…" Ned clenched his fist closed at his sides, his jaw tightening. "Did he hurt you?"

His eyes glanced all over her face, from a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the kohl and other makeup additions she had around her eyes and on her lips, and down to her collarbone and then the shadowy dip where the top of her dress presented a glimpse of the swell of her breasts. His eyes snapped away, landing instead on her soulmark. Without realizing, he had reached out and begun to rub his thumb over their matching mark.

"No, no, Viktor didn't hurt me," she mumbled, a flush on her face as she looked down at his much larger hand encircling her wrist. His thumb was making sparks shoot up her arm and she felt warm. "Ron -"

Ned rolled his eyes.  _Oh yes, he knew about Ron_. "What did he do now?"

He tugged Hermione a bit closer.

"Said I was 'fraternizing with the enemy,' by being Viktor's date, just because  _somehow_ , as usual, Harry also was picked as Champion, despite being too young," she sighed. She moved so she could share some of Ned's warmth. It was  _definitely_  cold in the North - colder than Scotland in winter.

"Berk," muttered Ned. "Did he interrupt your dance, then?"

"Not so much, as afterward, when Viktor was saying goodnight."

Ned's hands fisted again. "Oh?" There was definitely a tinge of jealousy to his tone.

Hermione glanced up at him. "It's not like that. He's a friend. But it would've been nice… I mean… a dance? A ball where everyone was looking at me like I'm not some bossy know-it-all… a midnight kiss…"

Ned frowned, glancing back to the entrance of the Hall, where the music still played. "You can still have that."

"What?"

Ned gently took her in his arms and positioned them in a Southron style dance, one that was becoming popular in the North due to the close proximity its partners were in. Most Northron dances were reels, often meant for switching partners and lines, but this one was far more intimate.

"Dance with me?" he offered, and Hermione smiled up at him.

Together, they moved with the instruments, along the flagstone of the landing in the inner courtyard of Winterfell, their steps light and soft against the stone and their forms flickering out between light and shadow.

Hermione's skirts brushed Ned's legs, and he clasped her hand close to his chest while the other moved her a bit closer by pushing gently on the small of her back. She, in return, nestled against him, tucking her head under his chin. Her eyes closed, and Ned's fluttered shut.

 _Please don't leave this time,_  the thought burst into his mind, and his eyes flew open as he realized he wanted to spend more time with her, that maybe he was beginning to feel more than just friendship for his odd soulmate from another world.

Swallowing, he cleared his throat just as the music changed to a reel, and without realizing it, he spun her out - those dance lessons from mother was paying off. Hermione let out a startled laugh but followed as best as she could as he began teaching her a Northron dance.

They spun, linked arms, and tighter and tighter they went around, Hermione's laugh bouncing off the silent courtyard, all that much louder in the quiet night as they spun from the light of the torches to the far end of the landing into shadow.

"Brother?"

Ned turned, his arms empty, and stepped forward, once, twice, until he and Brandon could look at each other properly.

"Ned? Who was that?"

Ned's eyes widened. "You  _saw_?"

In all their time together, no one had ever seen the other, even if there was the chance of someone walking in to their conversations… until now. Ned wondered at the marvel of it, and if the Gods had heard his prayer.

"That woman in blue? Aye? Where did she go?" Brandon tilted his head around his brother and squinted into the dark. "Hello!? My lady?!"

Ned wheezed a bit of a laugh. "She's gone now, Brandon. She won't be coming back."

His brother looked back at him, something different and new in his eyes. "Is this why you didn't want to dance with Barbrey? You have someone else caught in your mind?"

Ned scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I suppose so."

Brandon laughed, reaching forward and clapping his younger brother on his back, drawing him close to give him a one-armed hug. "Ned! I didn't know. You  _wolf_."

They grinned at each other.

"Will you tell me about her?"

"Aye," said Ned, and together, they entered the Hall.

Ned learned two things after that meeting with Hermione: one, he regretted not being able to give her the midnight kiss she wanted, and two, from that day on, he had an irrational hate for any men who crossed his path with the names Ron or Viktor.

* * *

_Sixteen:_

The Infirmary was quiet, but it was the kind of silence Hermione hated because it was suffocating. She and Ron were the only ones remaining in the hospital wing following the battle - although, in all honesty, it was more a pathetic skirmish on their part - at the Department of Mysteries. The cost wasn't worth it.

Sirius was dead.

Ron was still in a magically induced coma while the Healers figured out what the brains did to him, and Hermione, well, she was on a strict potions regime to heal the failed Dark curse that Dolohov sent at her. She could barely move her chest; breathing  _hurt_. Everything hurt.

She kept fighting the drowsiness that came from the lingering effects of Dreamless Sleep, but Madam Pomfrey couldn't prescribe her anymore without it interfering with the other potions, so she was stuck feeling the agony of her chest split open alongside the desire to sleep. Her eyelids drooped, and she felt the oncoming effects of a light doze when a scuffle caught her attention.

Her eyes flew open and they darted around the darkened wing. "Hello?" she whispered, straining her neck a bit to look up. "Harry?"

A throat cleared, and a shape emerged from the white dividing sheet between her bed and the rest of the wing, as she was tucked nicely and quietly away from the others, by a window. She instantly relaxed at the sight of her soulmate. But something was wrong.

"Ned?"

His eyes were red with black marks under them, and his hair - now almost as black as Harry's - was disheveled, as though he ran it hands through it many times. He had stubble all over his cheeks and jaw, and his gangly awkward form had shot up and firmed up into that of a young man's body, one that handled weaponry on a daily basis to give him muscles the boys at Hogwarts would never have.

"Ned," she struggled to sit up, gasping. "What happened?"

He gingerly sat on the edge of her bed, reaching immediately for her right hand. He touched their soulmark and he let out a shuddering breath.

"I was summoned back to Winterfell," he began, haltingly. "A few moons ago."

Hermione struggled to sit up, hissing at the pain, but Ned didn't seem to notice. He continued to speak.

"Mother was ill - dreadfully so," he was speaking quietly, lost in his own thoughts. "Father wanted us all back. So Brandon came from where he was with friends, by House Ryswell, and Lyanna and Benjen were at home, and I had to come up from the Eyrie."

Hermione watched him, silent.

His grip tightened on her hand, almost painfully so. His speech began to deteriorate, his breaths shuddering as he struggled to control his breathing. "Mother - she passed to the Old Gods a few nights ago, Hermione."

Somehow, Hermione was able to sit up, propped against her flat pillow and the cold, metal headboard of her bed, and wrapped her arms around her soulmate. His hot tears soaked her shoulder as he tucked his head against the spot between her neck and shoulder. His shoulders shuddered, but he kept quiet.

 _They call me the quiet wolf,_  he once told her. She understood.

She tilted her head back, blinking back her own tears of empathy, and recent loss. Sirius - she had barely known him - but he was important to Harry and some of her friend's last connections to his parents. He protected her, teased her, argued with her, but ultimately, died for Harry.

Ned remained in her arms for hours. The two, safely hidden behind the divided, were kept out of sight from Madam Pomfrey's nightly patrols, and being tucked in the corner meant no one visited Hermione. Eventually, Ned drifted off to an uneasy sleep, the two of them sharing Hermione's small hospital bed.

Although she was uncomfortable with the position, Ned pressed to her shoulder, near where her scar from Dolohov began, she has no desire or wish to move and interrupt her friend. There was a sharp intake of air, as predawn light began to filter into the infirmary, and Hermione carefully glanced at Ned to see if he was awake. However, he just shifted a bit and nosed her shoulder, still asleep.

"You'll need to go soon," she whispered at him, fondness in her expression as she played a bit with his hair, smoothing it down.

"Not yet," he muttered back.

 _Soon,_  she thought with a sigh. Sometimes she wished he never had to go.

* * *

(Years later, at some fancy Ministry-sponsored ball, Harry will stop talking mid-sentence and turn to Hermione with a curious look in his eyes.

She's looking gorgeous, hair slicked back, long down her back and contrasting sharply against a silver dress - she only wears silver or grey or some shade of it anymore - and brandy-coloured eyes. Hermione will look at him and ask, "Harry?"

"That boy, the one who visited you in the hospital wing," Harry will begin tentatively, seeing recognition in Hermione's eyes, "Who was he? What did he want?"

"He was a friend," she will reply after a moment or two, lost in memories. "His mother just died. Sirius had just died. We shared mutual grief."

Harry will go quiet and then say, "When Ron left, and we were just in the tent alone, me and you - sometimes, at night, you'd cry out a name:  _Ned_. That was him?"

Hermione's bittersweet smile will be all the confirmation Harry needs. He will ask again, pushing silent, unknown boundaries: "What happened to him?"

"We don't talk anymore," Hermione will answer, that brittle smile on her face still.

Harry will never bring the conversation or topic of Ned up again.

And, somehow he knows, and will never speak of soulmates in Hermione's hearing, especially when he looks at his mark in the mirror and knows it does not match his fiery wife's.

He understands not being able to speak to soulmates.)

* * *

_Seventeen:_

Robert laughed as he swung his war hammer through the air just above where Ned's head was, ducking under the heavy weapon quickly to avoid getting his brains smashed out.

Ned raised his sword in retaliation, smacking it against the war hammer, making the two weapons ring out. Vibrations ran down Ned's arm and he grit his teeth, stepping back and to the side to avoid Robert's return swing. Someone cheered to the side of the training yard, where the two had gained a following of servants, lesser houses, and their foster-father, Lord Arryn himself.

Lord Whent had just announced a grand tournament to be held the following year at Harrenhal, with several large gold prizes up for many of the competitors. Robert spoke of nothing else for days after the raven was received, wanting to participate in the melee and immediately engaging Ned as his sparring partner.

"Are you -  _huff_ \- sure -  _huff_ \- you're not going to -  _huff_ \- participate, Ned?" asked Robert, darting forward and panting with exertion as he swung his massive hammer to and fro, back and forth quickly with both his hands and swinging his weight along with it. With each pass, Ned took a step back, or to the side, or made a turn, each time avoiding the swing of the steel and iron.

"I only gamble with my life, Robert," replied Ned wryly, ducking and then ramming his shoulder into his friend's gut, making the much larger and wider teen expel his air loudly. "On the battlefield and not in tourneys. Why show your future enemies what you are capable of?"

Despite being shoved backward by the shoulder, Robert laughed loudly. "The quiet wolf, eh?!"

Ned grinned. "Damn right."

As he back stepped, gaining some space between himself and his foster-brother, Ned surveyed those watching them fight. Lord Arryn was watching with a very keen eye, having employed two separate Masters of Arms to teach him and Robert two different fighting styles; both were exemplary students. There was a serving wench Ned knew that Robert had slept with, as she was cradling her new babe to her chest: the young Mya Stone, Robert's daughter.

Ned sighed. Robert was jokingly calling out to a Hardyng - the two amping up the crowd and taking a few bets, so while he was distracted, Ned went to grab a drink, only for his heart to stop.

Far behind the crowd, there was a familiar head of brown hair and brown eyes. The met and Ned felt his heart quicken at the sight of his match. She smiled.

His lips involuntarily twitched up - a strange look to many around him who knew him only as generously 'solemn' - and he glanced up towards the towers in the Eyrie, where his room was located. As she seemed to, Hermione understood his message and quickly disappeared.

 _Time to finish this_ , thought Ned, and immediately swung around with his sword, crying out and catching Robert completely unawares by the sudden and much unexpected move from the taciturn young man.

Mouth open, Robert scrambled for his war hammer, placed off the side of the yard, and was quickly forced to dodge Ned's downward stroke, abandoning his hammer in the process.

"By the Gods, Ned!" shouted Robert, eyes wide, although there was a sparkle in time and his mouth was grinning. "What's gotten into you?!"

"Just thought to take advantage of your surprise, friend!" he called back.

"I'll say!" rejoined Robert, laughing, and dodging another swipe. For all the good Ned was as a swordsman, Robert had height and build superior to Ned's and eventually was able to swing his fist against Ned's cheek, smashing it and stunning him enough that he dropped his sword.

With a war cry, Robert bowed over and rammed himself into Ned, hard enough that the two went sprawling to the dirt. Ned's back slammed into the hard earth, stunned. However, both were groaning as Robert rolled off his friend.

"Match, Baratheon!" someone called amongst cheers and boos, as gold exchange hands.

"Alright, Ned?" asked Robert in concern, turning to look at his foster-brother.

Ned merely scrunched his eyes up and nodded. "Winded," he wheezed. "Gonna - take - bath."

"Good idea," said Robert, getting to his feet and then helping his friend up with a sharp yank on his arm. "I'll see you later at the feast Lord Arryn will no doubt have prepared."

Ned waved him off and meandered his way slowly through the crowd, taking the well-wishers claps on his back with grace and humility, as well as the praise from others. Eventually, he made his way past them, as people left the training yard and went their separate ways. He took his time, but eventually reached his room, high above the yard. As soon as he shut his door, he leaned against it with a deep sigh.

"That looked hard," said Hermione, from his desk, where she was reading a book he borrowed from Lord Arryn's library. It was the one on the history of the Andals.

"It can be," he remarked, pushing away from the door, stripping off his jerkin. It left him in his sweaty white tunic underneath. "But I've been training since I was eight when I came here. I know what I'm doing."

"I'll bet," she said, watching him.

His body suddenly felt flushed in a way that  _wasn't_  from battle. His cheeks burned and he cleared his throat, playing with the strings on his tunic, wondering if he should change, or at least take it off and wet his heated flesh from the bowl of cold water next to his bed.

"What brings you by, my lady?" he asked instead, busying himself by turning and pulling his tunic off.  _If I keep my eyes off her, I can pretend it's Lyanna in the room with me instead._

"Harry is being…  _ugh_ ," she finished.

Ned kept himself from turning to face her but smirked. "What's he done now?"

"He thinks Malfoy is up to something and has taken to following him in the middle of the night under his invisibility cloak," replied Hermione. He heard her shift the chair so she was facing him more fully.

Ned paused in reaching for the cloth left just over the rim of the bowl. "Following him? Really?"

"Yes,  _really_ ," sighed Hermione. " _And_  - Ned -  _and_  he's cheating at his school work!"

Ned's frown deepened and this time he did turn. "Cheating? He would dishonour the hard work he should put into learning a subject by finding a shortcut instead?"

Hermione nodded vigorously. "There's this book - there's all these handwritten cheats and spells written in the margins and Harry's just been  _following_  them, not even knowing what they are, or do, or who this 'Half-Blood Prince' is!"

Ned made a face. "Half-Blood Prince? That certainly doesn't sound good."

"Tell me about it," she sighed, resting her cheek against a hand that was propped up on his desk. Her eyes lazily drifted down from his face to his chest, which gleamed with drying sweat.

"Hermione!" he yipped, turning around and blushing as he grabbed the washcloth and dipped it into the cold water. He then began to rub it against his chest and neck while she laughed.

"My two best friends are boys," she said with a teasing tone to her voice, "You don't have anything I haven't already seen, Ned. Besides, all the Weasley boys like to go without shirts during the summer."

Ned frowned, glancing at her from over his shoulder. "Just how many naked men have you seen, Hermione?"

The answering glint in her eyes was wicked. "They're hardly  _naked_ , Ned. Now, if you want to remove your trousers, then we could say I've seen at least one…"

Flustered by her teasing, he tossed the wet cloth at her. She shrieked and held her hands up to ward off the offending fabric, leaping from the seat and dashing around to the other side of the room, near the fireplace.

Grumbling a bit to himself, Ned fought against his jealousy of Ron and the Weasleys to grab a spare shirt from his trunks, slipping it on. He turned back around and crossed his arms, glowering at her, but Hermione just smiled and held out a hand entreatingly.

"Come on," she said instead, "I don't know how much time I have here - the boys are at a Quidditch practice - so let's catch up."

Ned sighed, falling for her easy smile, and joined her, sitting on his bed. She was cross-legged, facing him, and he sat stiffly in response, but definitely at ease with her company. She opened the conversation. "What were you fighting over?"

"Robert and I?" at Hermione's nod, Ned laughed. "We weren't fighting over anything! Robert wants to participate in a tourney Lord Whent announced. He's practicing his skills for the melee since that's his favourite part. It'll be held at Harrenhal next year."

"A year away!" Hermione's mouth dropped open. "And you're already practicing? What will you participate in?"

"None," replied Ned easily, relaxing enough to recline sideways on his bed to face Hermione, propped up on his elbow. "I prefer to not show off any of my skills for  _fun_. I learn to use a weapon because it is meant as a defense - not for fun."

"Sensible," she murmured.

Ned's cheeks reddened at the praise.

"I'm also sure Robert is practicing so hard because my sister will be there. She'll be fifteen, and they've been betrothed for the last year," further explained Ned, hoping that Hermione would be suitably distracted from him and talking about his skills.

"Betrothed at fifteen?" there was a flash of indignation. "That's barbaric!"

Ned shrugged. "That's how things are done here. You know that."

Hermione's mouth twisted in disgust. "Your poor sister. Does she at least  _like_  Robert? Tell me she does."

Ned glanced away. "Erm…"

"Ned," warned Hermione, her voice low.

"She doesn't like… particular aspects of his personality," hedged Ned slowly, looking everywhere by his friend as he spoke.

"Like what?"

Ned winced. "Like… the fact that he has a child?"

He hazarded a glance at Hermione, who looked back, gobsmacked. "Robert's the same age as you, Ned! Eighteen! And he has a child already?"

"Mya's about a year or so now?" continued Ned, his voice rising a bit in panic. "But he does dote on her, Hermione! I've seen him with her, he treats the babe well."

Hermione frowned. "Does his soulmark match Lyanna's? I guess if he fooled around before, and you don't exactly have contraceptives the same way my world does…"

Ned shook his head. "I've seen Robert's mark - it's a winding, thorny rose with two antlers on either side of it - but Lyanna's doesn't look like that." His frown deepened. "Actually… I don't think I've ever seen my sister's. But I know it's not Robert's."

"That's right," sighed Hermione, "Cursemarks. You don't marry anyone with the same mark to prevent tragedy."

"Historically speaking, it's a strong statistic," replied Ned, a slight tease in his voice as he quoted back the documentation of their world and soulmarks. "But - and I must admit here - for however wild my sister can be, full of the wolfsblood, I think she's a bit of a hopeless romantic."

"How so?" asked a curious Hermione.

Ned grinned. "Her favourite story growing up was Jenny's song, from Old Nan. About the Crown Prince Duncan abdicating from the throne to marry the peasant woman of his dreams - his soulmark match."

Hermione smiled. "Then how is that a tragedy?"

"They both burned to death in Summerhall," replied Ned promptly.

Hermione snapped her mouth shut with an audible sound. "Oh." Then: "How long ago did this take place?"

"Less than twenty-five years, my lady," answered Ned with a smirk. "Not all cited sources of the tragedy of those soulmarked is from a long time ago."

"Blimey," replied Hermione quietly, eyes wide.

Ned reached forward and took Hermione's hands in his, exposing her soulmark and his in the process. They looked at them together.

"Lyanna wants love with her match," said Ned quietly, and as he looked up to meet Hermione's eyes, he raised her right wrist to his lips and kissed her mark. "Nor can I say that I blame her."

"Ned…" whispered Hermione, her hand in his beginning to tremble.

"Hermione…"

And then there was someone shouting Ned's name through his closed door - and Hermione was yanked away, back to her realm, just as Robert burst through, already speaking of Lord Arryn's discussion with him for the Harrenhal tourney and what Robert should do to improve to crown Lyanna his Queen of Love and Beauty.

But Ned's hand still tingled from where Hermione's rested in his, and his lips were on fire.

* * *

_Eighteen:_

_If Lyanna thought she was fooling anyone with that Laughing Knight nonsense!_ groused Ned, scowling deeply as he stalked through the halls of Harrenhal from the Stark rooms Lord Whent had given them for the stay during the Tourney.  _She has another thing coming!_

His steps slapped hard on the stone. He was seeking out Brandon, as the eldest and representative of the Starks, to talk some sense into their wild little sister. Such a stunt, if discovered by King Aerys, could have her killed! What was she thinking!

Ned grumbled under his breath. Brandon was nowhere to be found, and the evening feast would begin shortly. The final events - the joust and the crowning of the Queen - would take place tomorrow and Ned  _had_  to ensure that Lyanna didn't do anything stupid in the meantime.

Deciding to return to their chambers, and hoping that  _someone_  would be there that he could rant to, Ned turned on his heel and began making his way back, retracing his steps. As he turned one corner, he nearly bumped into a couple taking advantage of the large, maze-like fortress, half hidden in a shadowy recess.

The man's hands were under the woman's skirts, his face buried in her neck as she giggled. The man also laughed softly against her neck, and Ned rolled his eyes in disgust as he realized who it was.

"By the Gods, Brandon,  _really_?" he muttered, but loud enough his brother heard. "Now?  _Here_?"

 _Was he stupid?_  thought Ned waspishly. Here he was - Ned struggled to find a word until one Hermione taught him popped into his mind -  _canoodling_  - with -

"With Ashara Dayne?!"

Brandon lazily removed himself from the Sword of the Morning's sister, letting her skirt fall as he deftly readdressed his own disheveled state and partially undone trousers. "Brother. Have you met the lovely Lady Ashara?"

Ned glanced at her, at her breasts nearly spilling out of her tight top, and glanced away quickly. No blush covered his cheeks as it would have, given he was preoccupied. "Yes, very nice to meet you, my Lady. Now, Brandon, can we  _please_  talk?"

Brandon sighed, turning back to his latest conquest and drew a finger down her cheek, making her giggle and bat her eyelashes at him. The purple colour of her eyes was stunning, Ned could admit, and he could see the exotic beauty in her that captured Brandon's constantly roving attention.

"Later, pet," he murmured, and turned back to his brother. "Honestly, Ned, couldn't this have waited?"

Ned stared at him and waited until Ashara had left to hiss, "Brandon. Do you have a  _death wish_? Ser Arthur is the deadliest swordsman in the Kingdom, and you stink of sex you just had with  _his beloved sister_! And Lyanna is being  _Lyanna!_  Talk some sense into her, if you have any left!"

Brandon frowned, ready to refute some of Ned's claims, but then he sighed, running a hand through his long, dark brown hair. "Aye, you're right. My apologies, brother. Come - I'll have a quick wash and speak to Lya. What's she done now?"

"What's she done now?" echoed Ned, incredulously. "Did you not realize?  _She_  is the Laughing Knight!"

Brandon stopped walking and turned to stare at his brother. "What?"

Ned nodded empathically.

Brandon groaned. "Come on, then. Let's find our wayward little sister. Mayhaps she is with Benjen?"

Lyanna was not; their chambers were empty. Perturbed, Brandon took a quick wash to mask the scent of his earlier activities. Running short on time, Ned gathered Benjen. At their table - luckily not too close to the King's royal dais - Ned waited anxiously until, at the last moment, Lyanna, wearing a shimmery Stark grey dress with her hair pulled back on one side of her head in braids, slipped into the seat beside him.

"Am I late? Did I miss anything?" she whispered.

Ned gripped his fork tighter and tried to remember that he loved his sister best and didn't want to actually engage in a wrestling match like they would have when younger when they fought.

" _Where. Were. You?"_  he hissed at her.

Lyanna frowned at him. "Hiding from Robert. I was in the stables."

Ned wanted to bash his head against something. Lyanna and Robert's betrothal was another hot mess - another phrase stolen from Hermione - mainly because she couldn't stand him, and he worshipped her.

"Don't do anything else stupid," muttered Ned instead, from the corner of his mouth, very aware that anyone could be listening. "You stick by my side  _all_  of tomorrow, understand?"

Brandon apparently heard, because he swiveled his head around to glare at Lyanna as well, and in the face of her two older brothers staring at her, hard, she nodded. "Promise."

Brandon narrowed his eyes at her, but turned back to his company on his other side, continuing their discussion and ensuring she heard  _nothing_.

Despite the conversation Brandon had with the man on his other side, it was clear to Ned that Brandon would have much rather preferred to be across the room, giving the way his eyes kept flitting over to the Dayne table, much closer to the King given Arthur Dayne's position on the kingsguard. Ashara, of course, was the target of his wandering eyes, looking resplendently beautiful in a purple dress that matched her Targaryen eyes.

Lyanna behaved for the most part for the rest of the evening, with Ned's keen eyes watching her. He was surprised that she was so moved by the sad melody that the Crown Prince sang as he played his harp, though. She never struck him as musically inclined or a music lover, before.

Benjen leaned around her to tease her. "Tears for the Prince, Lya? Where's the mighty She-Wolf now?"

Enraged, Lyanna turned and reached for the pitcher of wine in front of them and dumped it on Benjen's still laughing head, until he gasped in shock at the red dripping all over him. Brandon, instead, laughed loudly and Ned shook his head.

He failed to notice Lynna turning, caressing the back of her neck, under her hair as she sat back down. Across the hall, as the Prince finished his song and he took a bow to the applause of the court, masking the Stark interplay, he too reached modestly behind his neck.

* * *

The following day, the Stark males could only watch in confusion and then mounting horror as Rhaegar, on the back of his horse, took the crown of winter roses from his father's hands and cantered past his wife, sitting next to the man in the royal box, winding his way down the stands.

Mutters and cries began to raise the volume of the audience as he stopped in front of the Starks, and presented Lyanna with the crown, naming her the Queen of Love and Beauty.

 _No!_  thought Ned, his empty hands clenching and reaching for something - someone - who wasn't there.

The uproar following the act was muted between the roaring in Ned's ears as he watched Lyanna shyly accept the gift and the steamy look the twenty-two-year-old gave his little sister. The Crown Prince then trotted back down the churned earth, towards the stables.

Immediately, Brandon leapt to his feet and began ushering Benjen away, grabbing Lyanna by the arm and yanking her around as they stumbled down from the stands, hoping to avoid the crowds and make it to the safety of their bannermen. They had to leave. Immediately. Now.

Brandon all but threw Lyanna into her chambers, packing for her. Ned, in the room adjacent, could hear every screamed accusation she was lobbying at Brandon, who was equally thundering back as his temper rose.

"That doesn't sound too good."

Ned let out a relieved breath. "Hermione."

She stood in her jeans and jumper, although both hung loosely off her, and her collarbones poked out obviously from beneath the top. Ned eyed her, the hollow look to her cheeks and the dark marks under her eyes. Even her honey-brown eyes were dull, her hair a bit lank.

"Hermione?" he strode towards her. "What's wrong?"

She then seemed to flicker out of existence - just for a moment - and his panic, which had been muted by her arrival - slammed to the forefront of his brain.

Her smile was strained. "Nothing. Don't worry about me. What's going on there? Is that Brandon and Lyanna?"

"Aye…" said Ned slowly, watching her. "The Prince just crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty."

Hermione frowned. "That's… bad?" she guessed.

Ned nodded. " _Very_. He's married with two children, Hermione."

"Oh," she replied, and then fell silent. She flickered again. "Strange."

" _Strange_?" echoed Ned, taking a step towards her. "Hermione - is everything well? You usually are more expressive than this. What ails you?"

"Honestly, Ned, I'm fine," she tried to smile, but it turned more into a grimace. "So. Crown Prince shows favour to your sister, over his wife. Is divorce a thing in Westeros? I'd imagine this might cause problems with… what's his name? Robert."

 _Oh, Gods,_  thought Ned, swaying slightly.  _Robert!_

He hadn't even thought of his best friend, who was also in the stands and probably saw it all as well. He could be storming his way with his bannermen right this moment!

Ned shot a panicked look at the barred door. He was only eighteen, Godsdamit! The drama of Jaime Lannister, Tywin Lannister's eldest son becoming the newest white cloak, the Laughing Knight, and then Lyanna, was clearly too much for him.

Hermione flickered again as he looked at her. "Hermione - what is going on? You've never been like this before…"

She glanced down, biting her lip, and then sighed. "I'm sorry, Ned. I'm a bit… preoccupied at the moment."

"Preoccupied…?"

She nodded and then he was no longer in his chambers at Harrenhal, packing, but rather a large, brightly-lit circular room. Large windows filled with expensive glass allowed the moonlight to trickle in, but Ned's eyes were focused on Hermione, who lay sprawled on the golden tiles, covered in sweat. Her eyes were glassy as they held his.

Above her, a woman dressed all in black with wild black hair streaked with grey snarled and brandished her wand at Hermione. She snarled, "Where is it, Mudblood? Where is the sword? Tell me!" and when Hermione said nothing, she snapped out, " _crucio_!"

Hermione  _screamed_.

It was unlike anything Ned had ever heard before, the sound coming from his soulmate's mouth as her body strained and bowed, her back rising off the floor as she twisted and turned, trying to get away from whatever effects the spell was having on her.

The woman did not let up, keeping her wand pointed at Hermione. Tears leaked down the side of Hermione's eyes, trailing down her cheeks and temple and into her hair. Ned collapsed to his knees next to Hermione, hands hovering awkwardly.

" _Hermione!_ " he cried, feeling his heart torn.

Prowling behind the crazy woman was a rather dangerous looking man, with sharpened nails and pointed teeth. His eyes flashed yellow and he was covered in grime and tattered clothes.

"Let me at 'er, Bella," he pled, his voice hoarse and low. "I want a taste. Gimme a taste of her flesh."

Horror made Ned recoil.

"Not yet, Greyback," the woman, Bella drawled, letting the spell go. Hermione collapsed onto the tile, panting heavily. "You can keep your paws off her until I'm done with the Mudblood. I want to know about the  _sword_!"

She roared the last word and cast the spell again. Hermione screamed.

"Gods above, Hermione!" Ned scrambled towards her on his knees and caught her thrashing head, holding it between his two, framing her face as he bent down at pressed his forehead to her.

His heart was hammering in his chest, but it seemed that no one could see him - it was always so strange when someone could or couldn't - and instead, he spent his time focused on his soulmate. He muttered, "Be strong, Hermione, I'm here, I'm here," close to her ear as tears welled in his own eyes in response.

His own worries and fears of Aerys faded into the background; what use was his living if his soulmate was dead?

"Whatever she wants to know, Hermione, don't tell her," begged Ned. "She doesn't deserve it, you're strong, you can get through this."

Distantly, he could hear two male voices screaming from far away - the same words over and over again:  _Hermione! Leave her alone! No! Stop!_

It seemed his match was not alone in her prison; Ned recognized the voices enough to know it was Harry and Ron.

"You're not alone, my love," he muttered into her hair, eyes shut tight as she twisted and gasped. "I'm here. Your friends are here. We're going to survive this."

The spell eased and Bella was muttering something to Greyback, and the other blonde-haired people in the room; one was ashen, a young man their age and the other two in bright-coloured robes must have been his parents.

Hermione's head lolled to the side and Ned cradled it with his hand. "I'll kill her," he vowed, his voice low with rage as he stared up at the woman.

"No, stop," she whispered.

Bella turned, twitching. "Stop, Mudblood? Begging already? That's all your kind is good for anyway." She cackled.

"Hermione,  _please_."

Somehow, Hermione managed to twist enough that she could stretch her arm and touched Ned's wrist, on their mark. Their eyes met, briefly, and then Greyback tossed her onto her back roughly, a knee pinning her down on her stomach. Hermione cried out.

There was something in Greyback's eyes that made Ned's blood boil, and he lunged at the man, only to phase right through him. Cursing, Ned tried swinging for him again, but his hand went through the man as though he wasn't there.

 _No!_  His mind screamed, recognizing the look in the man's eyes as lust as he roughly helped Bella to stretch Hermione's left arm out.

"Let's try this again, Muddy," the woman said, crouching over his soulmate. "Tell me. About. The. Sword!"

When Hermione didn't answer, the woman sighed and withdrew a knife from her side, where it was hanging on her belt. She slammed her hand on Hermione's wrist and Greyback put his hands on her shoulders.

"No, no, don't!" Hermione tried to squirm out from under them, and Ned turned back around to her head.

"I'm right here, I'm here," he murmured helplessly, winding his arm under Greyback although the man didn't notice him, and clutched at Hermione's right hand with his own, bringing their marks together to touch.

Then he watched as Hermione screamed, and the woman drew the blade across her flesh, cutting deeply into it as she began to write.

"Gods, Hermione," cried Ned with her, wishing he could take her pain, "Lie! Lie to her! I'm here, I'm here. I'm right here."

"Please! Don't!" Hermione sobbed. "It's a fake, I swear! It's a fake!"

The woman finished, and withdrew, forcing the man to do the same as they stood and surveyed their handiwork.

The woman spat down on Hermione, the ball of spit landing on her already dirty clothes. Ned's entire being trembled with suppressed rage as he glared hotly at the retreating figures.

They ignored Hermione, giving Ned enough time to slide to the floor and lay beside her, still clutching her hand tightly. Her eyes, which had been tightly closed, fluttered open and met his. A tiny smile appeared on her chapped lips.

"Ned," she breathed.

"I'm here, Hermione, I'm right here," he said, repeating himself but he didn't know what else to say.

"If... If I don't make it out of this-"

"You  _will_ ," interrupted Ned fiercely, squeezing her hand tightly. "You will. I'm here. Harry and Ron are here, too."

Her eyes shut. "Ned…"

"Promise me you'll survive, Hermione," he cried, wanting to reach out and shake her. "Promise me! You're my  _soulmate_! My other half, remember? You taught me that these aren't cursemarks, but soulmarks. I believe in  _us_. I believe in  _you_. Please. Stay with me. Come back to me - I want a future with you.  _Survive_."

She exhaled, softly, and her eyes opened. "I promise."

* * *

_After…_

Clean up began almost immediately at Hogwarts, with anyone attempting to avoid thinking about their loss or the pain, they experienced throwing themselves into manual labour. Those who volunteered to help shift rubble and look for buried bodies used very little magic, and there was very little help coming from the Ministry, as a state of emergency had been called and Kingsley was forced to leave to attend.

McGonagall, Slughorn, Flitwick and the other professors all picked parts of the castle and began from their offices, spiraling out, while Hermione found herself with Luna, Neville, Seamus, and Michael Corner, strangely enough, forming a line and walking through the courtyard.

Luna was the closest to her, at the end of the line, and after several painfully quiet minutes, Luna began talking about the lack of Wrackspurts surrounding people in the castle. Hermione let her melodic voice wash over her, barely paying attention to anything Luna said, except for the fact that she was  _alive_ , she was  _here_ , and that Luna hadn't been too affected by her time in the dungeons at Malfoy Manor that she was fundamentally changed from her experience (except, she was; they all were).

At one point, Hermione shoved her sleeves up her arm, absently, as she bent to pick up a large piece of stone and to move it to the sidewall when she realized Luna had stopped speaking.

"Luna-?"

The blonde's grey eyes were focused on Hermione's arms, and it took Hermione a moment to realize why - the scar Bellatrix gave her was displayed, the wound scabbed over but still as vibrant and fresh as it was weeks past when she was tortured.

Hermione self-consciously began tugging the sleeve down. "I know it's ugly, Luna -"

The touch of her hand stalled Hermione and she glanced up to see that Luna wasn't actually looking at the scar, but at her other arm, her right, and the soulmark.

"You never said," the Ravenclaw said softly, not touching but reaching out enough to let her fingers hover over it. "All this time, everyone thought you didn't have one, or you and Ron were already matched. But…"

"It doesn't match his," said Hermione quietly. "I know who my match is. I've known since I was nine."

Luna glanced up at her. "Then you should go to him, especially now that the war is over."

Hermione glanced away. "It's a bit more complicated than that, Luna."

"How?"

Hermione snorted and moved away from her friend to gather some smaller rocks. She stood and tossed them away, letting them bounce off a partially crumbled wall.

"Did he know?" Hermione looked at her and Luna expanded, "About the war? Is he a Muggle? He's not a wizard, or else you'd have said his name, or you'd already have been together. And he didn't die - you'd be devastated as all soulmarked would be."

Hermione nodded slowly, turning away and crouching as she moved some more rocks, letting her hair shield her as she spoke. "Yes, he knows. Yes, he's a Muggle - um, of a sort I guess. But we can't really be together."

"Why not?" Luna sounded frustrated. "If anyone deserves happiness, it's  _you_ , Hermione."

She shot to her feet and glared at the blonde. "Well, what about  _you_  Luna? Where's your soulmark and match?"

She received a wry, bitter smile in response. "He picked someone else."

Startled, Hermione took a step back before her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Luna."

"It's okay," she replied airily, although Hermione didn't believe her. "He's just not ready for me. Not yet, anyway."

Hermione hummed noncommittally, and the two returned to shifting rocks and rubble together, moving slowly along the courtyard wall. Seamus, Neville, and Michael had taken to working together to move the much larger pieces but were having some trouble with one very large boulder that a giant had dislodged from a part of the clock tower.

Finally, Hermione sighed. "After my… time at Malfoy Manor, I promised I'd see him again."

Luna looked up in surprise, her already wide eyes growing wider, and then a smile spread across her face. "There, see! He's waiting for you."

"A promise made during torture isn't a promise sincerely meant," scoffed Hermione. "I thought I was dying, and he kept me sane through it. Everything was charged and… he has his own worries and life. And where he's from, they're not called  _soulmarks_ , Luna. They are called  _cursemarks_."

"Cursemarks," murmured Luna thoughtfully in response. Her eyes turned inward as she processed what Hermione said. "How strange. But that doesn't change anything. A promise said is a promise meant, no matter what circumstance you found yourself in."

"I think," answered Hermione quietly, "That I'd rather he found love without me in a world where people hate their marks. We're friends, Luna, and I'd be happy to leave it at that."

Luna stared at her for a few more moments, and Hermione felt her cheeks flushed under the heavy stare but she refused to look at her friend. Finally, Luna sighed, very quietly, and they went back to their work.

As the clouds began to clear above them, beams of sunlight punctured through the cover and the late afternoon sun began to marginally warm the chilled May air. Hermione tilted her face back and closed her eyes, basking in the weak sunlight.

It was a new wizarding world that she had entered, and she had no time for soulmarks.

 

_Meanwhile…_

Ned stared in awe at his nephew as he was placed in his arms. He concentrated all his thoughts and senses on the small, wriggling babe to block out the dry Dorne air, and the sickeningly cloying musty air of dried winter roses slowly rotting and the coppery scent of blood.

So much blood.

He shifted the babe in his arms as Lyanna watched with a weak but proud smile on her face. "Isn't he perfect?"

"He is, Lyanna, he is," agreed Ned, quietly.

Everyone important in that room was splattered in blood: he, in the blood of Arthur Dayne and the others who had been protecting Lyanna in the Tower of Joy; she, from the hard labour; and his unnamed nephew, still covered in some birthing blood and fluid, despite wrapped in a small blanket.

Lyanna's face was a sickly grey, her breathing laboured hours after her other labour. There was a raspy quality to her breath that Ned didn't like, and he shifted his grey eyes from the dark-haired babe in his arms to his sister.

"Lyanna…"

"Ned," she interrupted with a weak smile. "Ser… Arthur told me… some news. He said… that you… married Catelyn Tully…?"

Ned glanced away, almost ashamed. "We needed Hoster Tully's men. It was… it was Lord Arryn's idea. He wed Lysa."

Lyanna sighed. "But…"

Ned glanced at her. "But?"

Weakly, taking a monumental amount of effort, Lyanna's arm rose from the bedcover tucked alongside her body and brushed so softly against the back of Ned's hand. Shifting the babe in his arms, Ned transferred him to one crook and allowed Lyanna to turn his hand and then slip her finger underneath the hem of his tunic, partially revealing a smudge mark on his right wrist.

His grey eyes met her dull ones. "You gave up love."

Painfully aware that he might never see Hermione again - but then again, they lived in separate universes, what future did they have anyway? - He failed to answer his sister.

Lyanna let her hand drop. "I had so… hoped… that you would… find love like… like  _I_  did… with Rhaegar."

Ned shook his head. "I don't think that kind of love is for me. And look what it did to you both. Love - it pulled this country apart, Lyanna!"

"I know," she sighed, her voice a bare whisper on a soft breeze. "I know. But… it was worth… those moments… with it. Over… over Robert."

Ned squeezed his eyes shut as tears threatened to fall. "Lyanna…"

"Ned, promise me."

His eyes popped open and they met his sisters as he leaned forward.

"Promise me... that if you… get the chance… with your match… you will take it."

"Lya-"

" _Promise me, Ned. Promise me."_

Ned's breath hitched and he pressed his forehead to his sister's, and he muttered as tears spilled, "I promise. I promise, Lyanna. I'll take care of your son like he was my own, and if I ever see Hermione again, I'll take a chance. I will."

He drew back slightly and saw Lyanna smile as her eyes closed. The smile remained on her face, even as she passed.

And Ned closed his eyes, clutched his nephew to his chest, the last remaining bit of Stark family he had outside Benjen, and wept.

* * *

FIN?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be following book ages for the adults and show ages for the kids (so aged up). As such the adults’ ages will correspond accordingly: if Ned is 32 when everything started in ASoIaF, but the eldest kids are aged up from 14 to 16/17 then he would be 34/35 instead. I will subscribe to the idea that he was 19 when Robert's Rebellion occurred. 
> 
> My Ned here is essentially a mix between Boromir!Sean Bean and Sharpe!Sean Bean.


	2. ONE

ONE

[ ](http://i32.photobucket.com/albums/d38/TraceyT86/soulmates01_zpsmfyyq9av.jpg)

* * *

_Summer, 2016_

Along the left wall of gilded fireplaces in the Ministry Atrium, the flames in one turned green to signal an incoming Floo. Out of the green flames, a tall and lanky teenager emerged, never breaking his stride as his Converse shoes squeaked slightly on the dark, polished wood flooring of the Atrium.

The teenager wore comfortable Muggle clothes: jeans and a t-shirt with a flannel button-up over top. One hand was clutching at his backpack strap, and he gave it a tiny jolt to let it rest higher on his shoulder more securely. With a flick of his hand - no wand in sight - the ash from the flames disappeared and his flannel shirt flapped back a bit with his purposeful strides. There was an unconscious grin - almost wolfish as a canine peeked out - on the teenager's face, as he approached the two large golden gates and the security desk. He fell into line behind several men and women as he joined the short queue; the one in front of him, tall and imposing with a large, flamboyant hat that matched her lime green robes, sniffed as she stared at the teen from along her long, pointed nose.

Grinning, the teen gave a cute little wave to the woman, who humphed loudly and turned on her black booted heels, ignoring him. Stifling a sigh and shaking his head, the teen plucked something from his ears, and one of the tiny white earbuds dangled down his front, little squeaks and cadences piping from it. Then, he was at the desk, manned by an old guard with white hair sticking out of his ears and thick glasses that enlarged his eyes.

"Hey, Mr. Atticus," greeted the teen with an enthusiastic voice, dipping and weaving in his enthusiasm. "How are you?"

The guard grinned at the teenager, showing off his teeth with various gaps between them. "Ah, young Teddy! I'm well, my boy. Are you enjoying your summer so far? Haven't you just graduated from Hogwarts? Well done!"

Teddy Lupin grinned back and rocked on the heels of his sneakers. He took out his wand from a holster attached to his right wrist and placed it on the weight scale in front of him as Atticus peered intently at it. "Yeah! It's great. Proud Hufflepuff Alum here!"

"What brings you by the Ministry?" asked Atticus, humming and nodding as he gestured Teddy to take his wand back. He looked knowingly at Teddy. "Seeing your godfather?"

Teddy nodded.

"Well, he's where he always is - Level Two," the elderly man said, waving Teddy through. "Wish Head Auror Potter my best, Teddy. And congratulations again, young man!"

Teddy grinned and waved his goodbye, and made his way toward the lift, placing his earbud back in. The music washed over him, and he found his left hand unconsciously tapping the rhythm of the song as he bounced into one of the gilded gold cages, leaning against the back of the lift wall and out of the way as two men in Wizengamot robes stepped in, crowding Teddy further back. Several flying memos followed the men in and quivered above him.

He sighed and made himself small, watching the two men argue - although he couldn't hear them over his music - and waited as they got off before him. He was familiar with these halls and the people who wandered in and out of the elevators, ducking under flying memos, waiting to zoom out on the right floor.

The doors dinged open, and Teddy stepped out, a flurry of memos behind him.

The corridor was long, lined with doors on both sides. Each door led to a different part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; and with the doors open, Teddy could peer in as he walked past, toward the end of the corridor when it turned, L-shaped.

"Hi, Mr. Newbury," he said, walking past the Wizengamot Administration Office, and then bleary-eyed wizard in pinstripe robes glanced up, nodded tiredly, and went back to reading his parchment.

Teddy shook his head and kept walking, nearly colliding with a frazzled older woman whose wand was directing a large pile of scrolls and texts. "Sorry, Mrs. Mulligan!"

The witch gave Teddy a dirty look, and hurried past, her heels making a  _clack-clack_  noise. Teddy sighed and shrugged, and then turned the corner where a set of heavy oak doors led into the Auror Headquarters. The large open area was a hive of activity, memos zooming here and there, a few wizards shouting at one another from across the room where they stood in their tiny cubicles, and a bunch were congregating by the Keurig coffee machine that a Muggleborn had brought in a few years past - an instant hit with the often sleep-deprived Auror workforce.

"Hey, Teddy!"

Teddy turned and was greeted by someone he knew well from the Auror offices: Dennis Creevey. The scarred and bulky man offered Teddy an easy grin. "Seventeen and a Hogwarts graduate already, huh? How's it feel, mate?"

"It's great!" enthused Teddy, clasping both of his backpack straps as he looked up at the taller man. Like most Aurors, Teddy admired them for their work catching bad wizards - especially given what happened to his parents - but he admired Dennis Creevey more than most, given what happened to him at the Battle of Hogwarts, and what happened to his brother, a man he never knew but heard his godfather speak about in the warmest tones.

His amber eyes darted around the office, and Creevey caught it. The sandy-haired man laughed and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Your godfather's in his office."

"Thanks, Mr. Creevey!" replied Teddy, walking by him and down a central aisle between the cubicles.

Creevey laughed, shaking his head. "How many times do I have to say it? 'Dennis' is just fine, kid!"

Teddy turned on his Converse, eyes wide. Walking backward, he nearly tripped over his own feet as he sputtered, "Oh, no, Mr. Creevey, sir, I couldn't -" Then his back collided into someone's chest, and he let out a loud, "oomph!" at the contact. Spinning around, Teddy blinked and groaned. "Oh,  _no_ …"

"Well, that's  _not_  quite the first reaction I was going for," replied his godfather in a very dry voice. "'Hi, Harry, how's it going?' or 'Lovely weather outside, isn't it?' is usually a good starting place."

"Sorry, Uncle Harry," muttered Teddy, shrugging, glancing to the side - looking down in guilt was one of the first things he learned  _not_  to do around his godfather (especially as looking down was a sign of guilt, as Uncle Harry often said). "I didn't see you there."

Harry Potter snorted, his green eyes lit with amusement as the thirty-six-year-old man partially turned so he was no longer blocking the aisle. "Clearly, Ted. Anyway, come on, let's go to my office."

The Head of the Department nodded at some of his Aurors, many who waved or called out greetings to the teenager. He had long been a familiar face in their offices, accompanying Harry in the mornings while other members of the extended Potter-Weasley family would rotate babysitting duties - one day, Teddy might be with Hermione; another day, he was with Fleur; or another, with Audrey or Angelina or later, when he was a bit older, George and Ron.

Harry's office was tucked into a corner, two sides of half-walls, and the rest made out of glass so he could look at his Department. There was a large desk and a comfortable chair which he eased himself into, sinking into it as he kicked his feet up onto his desk, which was untidy and cluttered with various bits of parchment.

Along the full wall was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, filled with books, mementos, awards, and framed photographs, including two large ones. One was of Harry and Ginny and their three children plus Teddy (posing for a formal photo session which was all the rage with wizarding families who didn't want to sit long times for portraits anymore); and another of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, just right after the Battle of Hogwarts, dirty, skinny, and worn, but a form of quiet triumph and weariness in their eyes as they slung to each other.

 _Reminders_ , a voice in Teddy's head quietly told him.

The last wall was windows, and despite being several floors underground, the bright light that spilled through the glass reflected the balmy and sunny London far above them, a nice change from the week of rain they had previously.

"You know, I didn't expect you to spend your first day of summer vacation - as well as a Hogwarts graduate - visiting me at the Ministry," said Harry just as Teddy dumped his backpack next to a chair in front of the desk and plopped heavily into it, his earbuds still jauntily piping out some form of electronic music genre. "It's only ten - I was thinking you'd sleep in until noon at least. That  _is_  what you teens do, right?"

Teddy sighed. "Oh, ha, ha, Uncle Harry. Very funny."

Harry grinned. "Anyway, have you had any more thought about what you want to do?"

"It's only been  _one_  day since graduation!" groused Teddy, making a face. "I literally just graduated! I have time to think about my future."

"Some time," replied Harry evenly and eyeing him from behind his glasses. "Did you give my offer more thought?"

Teddy nodded, sighing. "Yours, and Uncle Ron and Uncle George's. Hell, even Professor Longbottom offered me an apprenticeship if I want to stay on at Hogwarts!"

"You've got options, kid," grinned Harry. "How is that a bad thing?"

"I don't know," shrugged Teddy, muttering. "I just-"

"Don't want to be an Auror?" finished Harry, his voice understanding and gentle. "Don't think you want to work in commerce or a joke shop? Or be a Professor?"

"I don't know  _what_ I want," replied Teddy glumly. "I just know that -"

"That what?"

Teddy scuffed the toe of his Converse against the plush carpet in the office and slouched further. "I dunno. I guess I want…" he paused, thinking back to the latest babysitting jaunt he had the previous night, falling asleep on the couch with his (not quite) cousins, piled on top of him as they watched a Disney film. He flushed scarlet.

"Oh,  _now_  you need to tell me with that look on your face," grinned Harry, dropping his feet from the desk and leaning forward instead, intently.

Embarrassed, Teddy looked up at the ceiling. "I guess - I grew up on all these stories that you and Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione told, and I guess I want that too."

Harry frowned, confused. "You want to be Undesirable Number One, Ted?"

"No!" he sputtered out a laugh as his nerves overtook him. "I want  _adventure_. You did all these amazing things - ride a dragon out of a bank! Meet merpeople! Fight Dark wizards!" His flush grew deeper. "All before you were seventeen. What have I done with my life?"

"Teddy…" Harry trailed off. "My adventures -  _our_  adventures-" he amended with a glance at the framed photograph of him and his best friends "-you don't  _want_  that life. You don't want -"

"Far off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise?" finished Teddy wryly.

"Blimey. If you want that, I'll send you for an exchange with Fleur's family," muttered Harry, running a hand through his hair. "Merlin knows you'll end up getting into fights for Victoire's honour."

Teddy squirmed. Was his crush that obvious?

Harry sighed. "It sounds like you just need a change of scenery, Ted."

"Like a mini vacation?" he asked, perking up a bit.

"Yeah," replied Harry, turning at the waist and bending down as he rummaged through a drawer he opened. There was a lot of noise as he shuffled parchment and moved things around, as well as a muffled, "Ah  _ha_!" but then he popped his head back up.

He handed Teddy a thin, flat box, once that someone might place a necklace on a velvet cushion, in. Teddy frowned. "What's this then?"

"Something for Hermione," replied Harry. "Came from a raid at an old Selwyn manor a few weeks back - it's jewellery that has soul marks carved into it - see that sigil on the box's lid?"

Teddy peered at the burnt image, but it was hard to make out as it cleverly melted into the wood grain. He had to tilt the box this way and that until it caught the light and he was able to make out a three-headed dragon. "A dragon?"

Harry nodded. "Uh huh. One that we've never seen before - I had a rubbing sent to Charlie for his thoughts. Anyway - the notes from the Aurors said it came into the Selwyn family by way of the Malfoy's, but you know what Malfoy's like - pulling blood from a stone, that snake is - so we barely got any information other than it's an old family heirloom of some sort related to soul marks. And since the best person to ask about soul marks happens to be a friend, well -"

Harry grinned and trailed off with a shrug. "Maybe you'll deliver it to her in person? Rumour has it that she's planning a world tour for her recent publication on soul marks in different cultures."

Teddy's head shot up from looking at the sigil. "Really? You mean it? You'll let me go?"

"If Hermione says yes."

Teddy shot to his feet, nearly tipping the box in the process. Harry's face turned from fond amusement to alarm. Teddy scrambled as it turned over several times until he clutched it to his chest and then gave a nervous laugh.

"Careful, Teddy!"

A sheepish grin overtook Teddy's face and he scuffed the toe of his shoe as he replied, "Sorry, Uncle Harry."

Carefully, the teen placed the box into his backpack, zipping it back up and placing it on his back with infinite tenderness, trying not to jostle it. Harry watched, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other. When Teddy glanced up from shouldering the bag, he frowned. "What?"

Harry shook his head, the lines alongside his mouth pulling just a bit as he tried to not smile. "Nothing." Fondness laced through his words. "Do you know where Hermione is today?"

Teddy nodded. "Oxford, right?"

Harry nodded in return. "She's presenting this afternoon at the Conference for Magical Advancement and Spellwork." He made a face at the name. "If you Apparate out, you'll probably catch her talk."

Teddy grinned and practically skipped out to the office door, calling loudly behind him, "Thanks, Uncle Harry! See you later!"

In no time at all, he was back downstairs in the Atrium, and then at the designated Apparation spot, firmly thinking about the three D's and spinning on his heel - squeezed like in a tube - and then popping out on a grassy knoll further north, in a small, fenced off garden.

The magical side of Oxford University was an old building that had long been plied with Notice-Me-Not and Muggle Repellant charms, runes, and all other sorts of magical devices to hide the location for several bright-minded wizards and witches. An old building repurposed and "lost" to the Muggle side, it had been expanded upon expansion charm until it housed the entirely of the magical post-secondary school.

Signs were plastered with blinking neon text, and smoky, floating arrows directed Teddy down several winding halls, with large gothic windows to one side showing an expansive green garden. Eventually, he slipped in a small crack between two very heavy doors and stood off to the side of the tiered lecture hall. It was dark, and no one turned to look at him as he softly closed the door behind him.

At the front, his Aunt Hermione was in the middle of her presentation, gesturing to her projection screen (although magical folk didn't use projectors the way Muggles did), standing in front and to the side of a lectern.

Hermione was wearing Muggle-ish clothing, leggings with knee boots, but overtop had a loose tunic-oversized shirt doubled as a dress, cinched at the waist. Her long brown hair was partially tamed with an updo that left several riotous curls to escape and hover in a frizzy halo around her face. Each step she took as she walked the raised platform at the front of the room made a soft  _slap-slap_  on the wooden boards.

"-there are a hundred different religions in the world that focus on the concept of the soul. A soul is our reason for existence; it is the whole of our being in terms of who we are: how we think, how we act, what we believe. Every single person is unique and individual." Her voice was loud, booming with a  _sonorous_ , but calm and friendly enough that she reached every single audience member, hanging onto her words.

" _But this is not the case_ ," she suddenly changed her tone and stopped walking to look into the dimmed sea of faces in the auditorium. "How can this be the case when there are soul mates?"

She let the question sink in, and then turned, facing the projector screen. Images appeared. "Let's change things up for a minute; let's talk about Plato. In  _the Symposium_ , Plato has comedian Aristophanes tell a story. Now, we know this story-" she broke off and smiled knowingly at the audience, some of whom chuckled back -"because it is part of our magical history as well."

The image on the projector turned to a mass of human bodies, wrapped together, unable to tell where one began and the other ended. "Like most history, things have faded into legend and myth and start with 'once upon a time,' so -  _once upon a time_ , humans, according to Aristophanes, originally had four arms, four legs, and a single head with two faces. Split by gender, men were of the sun; women, of the earth; and those considered androgynous, the moon.

"It is fair to note that many of our earliest history of documented spell work and ritual is also gendered by celestial bodies - consider the Agni, a Hindu fire-based ritual to summon fire in large quantities to the earthly plane. It is traditionally undertaken by men as well as wielded by warriors in battle. Or, consider Mesoamerican goddess Awilix, whose twenty-day lunar cycle over the moon ties to the waning and waxing strength of Guatemalan witches."

Hermione gave a tiny laugh and shook her head. "Regardless, that's a lecture for another day."

More laughs and Teddy felt his mouth quirk up a bit. He may have been a Hufflepuff, but he was studious and had several  _very_  smart tutors over his terms at Hogwarts.

"These humans were powerful; the precursors to our magical ancestors, their histories lost to time and space. But powerful with magic of their own, they threatened the gods themselves. Yet, the gods stayed their hands; these humans were their disciples and worshipers, so what were they to do?" the image on the projector changed from the huddled mass to split bodies, each a separate entity.

"In punishment for their desire to overthrow the gods, Zeus split the humans in half," said Hermione, her voice low, reverent. "But these split humans were in utter misery to the point where they would not eat - and close to death, another god took pity on them, so he sewed them up. But his work was… let's say,  _incomplete_ , as instead of their original forms with two faces and two sets of genitalia, these humans were limited to one face and one gender. They would forever long for their other half; the other half of their soul.

"And what was  _left_ ," here, she paused, images rapidly filling the projector screen, "Was a mark. A single mark that matched the other half, its pair, that denoted that they came from the same being. Aristophanes believed that when the two find each other, there is an unspoken understanding of one another, that they feel unified and would lie with each other in unity and would know no greater joy."

Hermione turned back to the audience. "And  _this_  is where the concept of soul marks comes from. Not everyone has a soul mark - we should be aware that this, of course, is merely magical and mythological lore. There is no scientific proof that any of this happened - but it's a nice, romantic tale. Who wouldn't want to find someone that is their perfect other half? The part of them that understands, that balances, that supports and reins one in?"

She paused. "As Aristotle said, 'Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.'"

Then the floating chandeliers' candles lit, and the room was bathed in a warm yellow glow. The talk was over, and the audience began clapping. A man in robes - in the Oxford blue of the university - strode across the raised platform, also clapping. Once at Hermione's side, he tapped his wand to his throat and his voice rung across the room.

"Yes, let's give a warm thank you to Ms. Granger for her introduction on soul mates and soul marks," he announced happily, beaming at the audience. The candlelight bounced off a shiny spot on his bald head. "More information on soul marks can be found in her latest book,  _Anima Mundi and Other Connections_ , proudly published by us here at Oxford Press. As the leading researcher in esoteric and arcane magic related to soul mates and soul marks, having Ms. Granger here for the start of her world tour has been  _quite_  the treat! So - are there any questions from the audience?"

There was a brief moment of silence, and then a few stood.

"Where does the magic of soul mates begin and the science end?" asked one.

"A great question," said Hermione, as the professor with her summon two stools from the side of the stage. She sat primly, her back straight and hands in her lap. "The short of it: we don't know. Science would have us look at the reasons as to  _how_  we receive soul marks while others do not; magic would have us explore  _why_  we have soul marks. Perhaps this is more a question of theology rather than science, or, hermeneutics given our magical status."

Between the professor and Hermione, they managed to answer several questions and even generate a debate, until about half an hour later when the question period wound down to the final few questions.

"According to statistics, only one in five have a soul mark. In your opinion, why do some have them and others not?"

Hermione leaned back in the chair and tilted her chin up as she looked up at the domed ceiling in the historical auditorium. She laced her fingers together and hooked them around her knee as she mused, aloud, "Well, now…"

"I think we need to look at those who wear the mark," she finally said, slowly, contemplatively. "At the base level, all humanoid creatures have marks, whether Pureblood, Halfblood, Muggleborn or Muggle. But when we then look at the magical world, very few sentient magical creatures that are humanoid or bipedal have soul marks. Veela and werewolves, for example, do not. Because of that, we can't very well throw around generalizations or phrases that 'all magical folk have a soul mate' or that soul marks are a purely magical thing. If that were the case, then Veela, merfolk, and werewolves would also have marks."

"But they have their own form of soul mates, don't they?" someone shouted from the back.

Hermione nodded. "Of a sort, yes. Werewolves find one mate and stick with them for life; as do Veela. But they're not attracted to their mate due to a matching symbol or phrase on their body. Perhaps their magic is tuned to soul magic in a way different to ours?

"Now, historically, there are stories and tales of Purebloods born without marks that are killed or given up like Squibs," added Hermione, "Which implies that the mark itself is something inherently magical to those with magic, a necessity or a part of ourselves that without, we are incomplete or somehow… lesser. I do not believe that this is true. The idea behind not having, or having, a soul mark is cultural, and often tied to romantic notions of love and partnership. Funnily enough, I knew someone who called his a  _curse mark_ …"

She trailed off into a fond silence. After a moment, Hermione snapped out of it. "Where was I…? Oh yes, notions of love. I've always been of the mind that we choose our own destinies, and our own partners to love. It is our  _choice_ , and the decisions we make, that determines the makeup of our soul - not the supposed 'other half.'"

Teddy remained at the back of the auditorium, watching as people left, either by themselves or in pairs or groups, talking enthusiastically about Hermione's research or something similar, until it was nearly empty.

Teddy bounced down the aisle, coming up from the side of the platform while Hermione thanked the professor. The man turned to look at Teddy - causing Hermione to turn around as well.

"Ted!" she lit up in surprise and happiness. "What brings you by?"

"Uncle Harry sent me," he replied, rocking back on his heels.

The professor gave a goodbye nod, leaving Hermione with Teddy. She smiled fondly at the teen. "Did he? Whatever for?"

"He wanted me to pass on something to you."

"Oh?"

Teddy swung his backpack around and unzipped it, pulling out the wooden box and passing it off to her. Hermione reached for it, running her hands up and down the grain and then overtop the embossed sigil burnt into the wood. Her brows furrowed.

"What is it?" asked Teddy, watching her intently.

"This mark… I feel like I've seen it somewhere before," she murmured, eyes glazed over and lost in memory. After a moment, she blinked, and then her amber eyes were clear. She neatly tucked it into her beaded bag, which she had scooped up once her lecture was done from behind the lectern. "Never mind. I'll figure it out later. Was there anything else?"

Teddy shook his head. "Awesome talk, Aunt Hermione! I always knew your work into soul magic was something  _wicked_ , but hearing that?"

"That's just the introduction," grinned Hermione, reaching forward and slinging an arm around the teen's shoulders. "Merlin, Teddy! When did you get so tall? I think you're almost as big as your father."

The teen preened at the comparison to the late Remus Lupin. "Do you think so?" he asked shyly, ducking his head a bit.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, absolutely. Would I lie? Remus was always on the tall side - a bit gangly, too. A product of his werewolf metabolism. Speaking of - I'm hungry. Shall we head back to Grimmauld for a late lunch?"

"Oh, yes please," answered Teddy, but he then made a face. "But please tell me you're not cooking."

Hermione gasped in mock horror, staring up at the Hogwarts alum. "Edward Lupin!"

"Let's face it, Aunt Hermione, but no matter how smart you are, you're really quite useless in a kitchen," said Teddy solemnly, a knowing glint to his eyes.

Hermione went to respond, a tart and sharp retort on her lips, but then she stopped. "Sad, but true. Well… I suppose it'll be Thai, then?"

* * *

A few hours later, Hermione and Teddy sat around the renovated basement kitchen in Grimmauld Place, perched on stools at an island, chopsticks in one hand and takeout containers in the other.

The room itself had been upgraded and altered since the days when Hermione was Teddy's age and staying at the ancestral Black London home: much of the dark panelling and wallpaper had been striped and whitewashed to a neutral grey tone, with the baseboards painted to match the clean, white ceiling. Windows had been scrubbed and heavy dark velvet drapes were replaced with sheer white linen or sunny yellows. Even the dark furniture in many of the rooms, once cleaned of Dark magic, hexes, curses, and Doxies, was reupholstered and stained anew.

While Grimmauld Place wasn't going to win any decor awards, Hermione thought that her investment in purchasing the place off Harry once he and Ginny married had been a solid investment, especially with her work based out of London at the Ministry (and the fact that there were far too many memories for Harry; it was easy for him to let go of his misplaced guilt from his teenage years once he was no longer facing physical reminders).

Hermione had left both Sirius and Regulus's rooms alone, locking the doors and turning them into shrines for the men, but the rest of the house had been gutted from top to bottom, including the master bedroom on the top floor, and then, another for Teddy when he stayed over. Andromeda had passed away just before Teddy began at Hogwarts, partially due to illness and the rest, loneliness from outliving her husband, daughter, and son-in-law; by then, Harry and Ginny had all three of their children and were lovingly swamped at their Ottery St. Catchpole home, leaving Teddy more often than not in Hermione's care.

She hadn't intended to have children; what she and Ron had fizzled out after that kiss during the Battle, and while she dated, she never dated someone consistently. As she told Luna, she knew where her soul mate was, and she had no plans on rekindling - or attempting to, at least - that. Then, her research into soul magic began; she had so many questions! How could she and Ned connect across universes? Why did someone sometimes see her and other times not? Why could she touch things physically but not leave something behind?

Her research took her deep into arcane magic and forbidden knowledge. It took her from old Pureblood libraries in Britain to collections in Hungary; to temples in Laos and Mexico; to hidden archives in Egypt and Tasmania. She became the leading expert on soul magic - having not only seen it up close and personal during the War, with Voldemort splitting his soul, but also with Lily Potter's ritual.

And now she published her thoughts on it, hoarding far more information than she'd ever admit to knowing, of course, and was about to capitalize on that by beginning a world tour, the current subject of her discussion with Teddy.

"-and  _Harry_  suggested this?" asked a skeptical Hermione.

Teddy shrugged, moving around the few remaining noodles in his container with the ends of his chopsticks. "Yeah. He knows that I don't know what I want to do with my life. So he suggested a trip."

"But going with  _me?_  Teddy, it's hardly going to be fun," said Hermione incredulously, eyes wide. "I'll only be in one city for about two or three days - hardly enough for sightseeing even if I  _wanted_  to stop and take in the sights! Afternoons and evenings will either be lectures - and before you say that could be fun, it'll be  _the same lecture each time_  - or book signings. What would you do with yourself?"

"I don't mind seeing things on my own," replied Teddy quietly, putting down the container. "I'd just be… not here."

"Is there something else going on?" asked Hermione softly, putting the remains of her own meal onto the tabletop. She turned to face the teen. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Teddy bit his lip, looking away. A flush appeared on his cheeks, two bright spots of red that drowned out the few birthmarks on his face. His sandy hair - his colour of choice to be inconspicuous - cycled through to blue, green, and settled on an embarrassed red.

"I don't have a soul mark," he finally blurted.

Hermione blinked.

Teddy glanced at her and then back down at the tabletop. "I thought I was just a late bloomer, y'know? Like, you've mentioned that there were cases where people got their marks later in life, near the end of puberty instead of at the beginning. But… I'm seventeen now, Aunt Hermione, and I've never had a single thing on my body show up."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Is that - is that something bad? Not having a soul mate?"

Glumly, Teddy traced a finger across the island as his red hair turned a melancholy, deep blue so dark it looked like his natural black. "Victoire has a soul mark."

 _Oh. Oh, Teddy…_ "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

They were silent for a bit, and then Hermione said, quietly, "People don't end up with their soul mate, Teddy. People rarely do, now."

The teen cut a glance at her, eyes hopeful. "Yeah? Like who?"

"Like-" Hermione trailed off, casting her mind back for examples. The most obvious one was-"like your Uncle George and Aunt Angelina."

"That's because Uncle Fred died in the War, Aunt Hermione." Teddy stood from the island, collecting both their containers and began to walk around towards the garbage. He could vanish the containers, but Hermione had instilled a deep Muggle ethos of recycling during his summers with her. "I know you mean well, but people still do end up with their match if they can. Other than Uncle George and Aunt Angelina, there's no one-"

 _Forgive me, Harry._  "There's your Uncle Harry."

Teddy dropped the containers he was holding and they clattered to the floor as he spun to stare at her. "What?"

Hermione swallowed thickly and said, "Harry and Ginny aren't soul mates. Their marks don't match, but they got married anyway because people expected them to."

"B-But," sputtered Teddy, looking bewildered. His hair went from firehouse red to orange, to a neon pink. "Then who is his match?"

Hermione looked away, not speaking.

" _You_ , Aunt Hermione?" Teddy was shocked.

Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise. "What? No! Merlin, no, Teddy." She reached up and ran a flustered hand through her hair. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

He looked at her askance.

With a sigh, Hermione peeled back the sleeve of her dress-tunic so he saw the shield with direwolf, books, and crossed wands, on the inside of her right wrist. He stepped forward carefully, sliding along the wooden floor in his socks and eyed the mark.

"A wolf?"

"Direwolf," corrected Hermione gently.

The teen looked up. "Where are they? Your match? Are they dead?" his face immediately dropped as he realized what he asked. "I'm  _so_  sorry, Aunt Hermione - I shouldn't have -"

"As far as I know," interrupted Hermione kindly, "He's still alive."

A shrewd look fell over Teddy's face as it shifted from remorseful to calculating. "Muggle?"

"... in a sense." Hermione cleared her throat, standing from the stool and forcing Teddy to step back. "Now, why don't we go to my office, take a look at my itinerary, and if you like to visit most of these places, I'll owl Harry and say that you can come along?"

"Oh, great! Wicked!" his moods whipped straight into elation. Hermione flicked her wand at the spilled containers on the floor, vanishing them while Teddy looked on sheepishly. He then trailed her down the hall, talking all the while about places he had always wanted to see or go, and things he wanted to do ("And mountain biking, what a wicked idea, don't you think Aunt Hermione? Or bungee jumping in Australia! Or scuba diving - what strange inventions Muggles come up with! How about Gamarian horseracing? Are those the ones with the wings?").

Hermione's office was once Sirius's study on the second floor, off the library. It was a cluttered, chaotic mess, where only Hermione's unique system of cataloging told her where everything was. Precariously piled books looked ready to topple, some in groups on the floor; a notable pile was on the edge of her desk.

"My planner is here, somewhere," muttered Hermione, heading to the desk littered with scrolls and parchments. "That's the most organized part of this. Gods be good! I haven't been in this room for  _months_  since I finished my edits…"

Teddy, deciding to help, began to lift and root around a pile of scrolls near an overflowing armchair and end table covered with mugs and petite cups, some still half-filled with tea. One had a bit of mold beginning to grow in it.

Teddy grimaced and tapped it discreetly with his wand, thinking  _scourgify_.

"Ted? What are you doing over there?" called Hermione.

"Nothing, Aunt Hermione," he called back innocently. He  _was_  the son of a Marauder! "Have you found your planner yet?"

"No… do you think you can look by the fireplace? Merlin knows what it would be doing over there, but…"

Teddy moved as instructed, looking at the wicker yarn basket on the raised stone at the base of the fireplace, eyebrows lifting in surprise. However, he cautiously poked at it with his wand and surmised there was nothing there but wool and yarn. He then stood to his full height, moving a few framed photographs along the mantle, upending two rolls of parchment, which fluttered down to the floor, and then cursed as a belligerent doxy flew at him, screeching something.

He gave a wordless cry, and the thing dive-bombed him. Teddy swung his hands around, fending it off. He connected with the black creature, but it clung to his hand and bit - hard.

"Merlin's soggy underpants!" he swore loudly, growling and eyes turning amber as his hair turned a deep, dark red. The doxy screeched back and then launched off his hand, racing up to the ceiling where it disappeared in a crack.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine - just a little bit of blood from a doxy bite. It's nothing serious," grumbled Teddy, shaking out his hand. He looked down and saw that the doxy had bitten him, drawing blood. Luckily, his father's werewolf stamina and his mother's metamorphmagus blood did have positives of magical immunities, and Doxy venom was one such strain.

"There's nothing here," he said, turning instead with a frown. He looked around the room, casting an eye and thinking where he might place a planner. He did learn from this witch, after all. At the base of the armchair, he walked by, was Hermione's beaded bag. "What about your bag?"

"Hmm?" Hermione looked up from her spot by the desk. "Oh? Yes? Maybe."

Teddy grabbed it and hauled it over, and together she held it open as Teddy rummaged through it.

"Oh! Oh, well done, Ted," she said, as he pulled it out, handing it to her. She took it and began to flip through it, using a tab to a specific date. She placed the planner down on the desk, resting it against a small bulge in the beaded bag so that a part of it was still touching.

"Ouch!"

Hermione hummed, indicating she heard him, but her eyes were rapidly shifting back and forth, as she read her notes in her planner.

"Hey, Aunt Hermione?" he asked, a strange look on his face. "I think the clasp broke on the box holding that Selwyn thing…"

Alarmed, Hermione looked up. "What?" Her eyes widened. "Ted! You said the Doxy drew  _blood_?"

Teddy's wide eyes met Hermione's, and together they hastily drew back the beaded bag flap and four hands collided as they shoved Hermione's collection of odds and ends in her bag to the side as they sought the wooden box Harry gave Teddy earlier. Heart thumping loudly against her chest, Hermione found it first, seeing that the clasps holding it shut were indeed broken, and the inside, the jewelry that Harry had mentioned was off its velvet cushion.

The necklace was made of thick, interlocking black blocks with veins of some silver metal cut through it. The dark jewel shimmering in the light of the office, its metallic form glowing strangely. Some of Teddy's blood had smeared along the velvet, and onto the dark links.

"Obsidian," murmured Hermione, her mouth turning down into a frown.

"But what's that in it?" asked Teddy. "I've never seen silver like that."

"I don't think it's silver -"

Anything else Hermione was going to say cut off as the silver vein in the obsidian jewel glowed and gold runes began appearing along the squared edges of the links. They were a form of runes that neither Hermione nor Teddy knew, both having studied Ancient Runes at Hogwarts, and as Teddy opened his mouth to ask what was going on, there was a loud rushing noise, a flash of bright light that made him instinctively squeeze his eyes shut, and a loud hum.

It took several moments for Teddy's lupine senses to return to normal - he was far more sensitive than the average human and witch or wizard, thanks to his genetics. But the first sense that returned was smell, and he immediately wrinkled his nose at the strong scent of feces and unwashed bodies.

"Aunt Hermione?" he muttered, groaning.

"Easy, Ted," the familiar voice and scent of Hermione washed over him and he took into a few deep breaths. "You're on the ground. Can you sit up?"

He nodded, but the movement hurt, so he remained still. He heard Hermione sigh, and then mutter a Notice-Me-Not.

"Where are we?" he asked instead as she pulled him into a seated position and he let his eyes open the barest amount.

Hermione pursed her lips, looking past him. Teddy took that time to survey where they were, and his mouth dropped open as he did so. They were crouched at the entrance of a side alley, two tall wooden buildings on either side of them and a tall fence at the back where the disgusting smell was coming from. But ahead -  _ahead_  -

There was a street, cobblestone-lined and wide, filled with people in odd fashion walking to and fro, vendors with rustic, wooden moving carts selling wares, and even others moving barrels, or sticks with rabbits hanging from them, or a group of women in fancy dresses and elaborate hairstyles with men with  _swords following them what was going on where were they -_

"Calm down," said Hermione, and Teddy realized he was hyperventilating, panting quickly in from his mouth. His hair was a sickly yellow.

"Where are we?" he squeaked, when he finally managed to regulate his breathing, copying Hermione's as she watched him carefully.

She looked past him, eyes narrowed on a group of soldiers as they walked by in their red tunics and chainmail, their swords clanking against their legs as they did so. Teddy could just barely make out the lion on one side of the tunic bare from the armour.

"Westeros," breathed Hermione, eyes wide.

" _Where_?" demanded Teddy. "Did - did a Portkey go off early? Is that somewhere in - in -  _Kazakhstan_?"

The look Hermione gave him made him feel like he was a first year again, and he mumbled a quiet "sorry," under his breath.

"No, Teddy," said Hermione simply, rising to her feet and pulling him with her. "We're in Westeros. It's… it's  _another world_."

He gapped at her. "How do you know that?"

He then winced. His voice had been a little shrill.

Hermione sighed, a long, deep sound. "Because I've been here before," she finally said, looking up at him. "This is where my soul mate is from."

Teddy's eyes went wide as he goggled at her. " _Really?_ "

She nodded, biting at her bottom lip. "C'mon, we need to find out where we are in Westeros, and how long it's been. And… And I should find out what's become of Ned."

She took a few steps, but Teddy remained rooted next to a wooden building, eyes unfocused as his words to Harry from earlier came back to haunt him. He let out a trill of hysterical laughter, causing Hermione to turn to him and frown in worry.

"What? What is it?"

"I - I told Uncle Harry -" he sputtered, leaning against the rough wood, staring at Hermione with wide eyes and a pale face, "I said  _far off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise_." He looked around, a wobbly smile on his face. "I think this qualifies for 'far off places,' don't you?"

* * *

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on continuing this past the one-shot I wrote, but I was greatly inspired earlier today rewatching Captain America: Civil War and seeing the adorable version of Peter Parker that Tom Holland does, and according to my Tumblr, this was who people fancast as Teddy Lupin, so... here we go. :D
> 
> No idea when I will update next, as I'm slowly plotting this story out (but I've got a few chapters' worth of ideas at least). It'll be different in tone and content to _the Winter Witch_. Also, I am moving in 2 weeks, so I'm not sure what my internet situation will be like. In other news, 4 months, 146 days, and my strike is finally over? Legislated back to work... now I need to catch up on marking. Yay.


	3. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue from 1x01, "Winter Is Coming" in this chapter. Mix of TV and books.

TWO

* * *

Hermione's first order of priority was to get them off the street and out of the alley before they drew any attention - or at least, more attention than they had from their bright arrival or Teddy's rapidly cycling hair colours.

"Edward," snapped Hermione, using Teddy's birth name and a tone she rarely used. The teen snapped to attention and swung his head around to face her. "Focus. We can do this. Okay?"

"Yes, Aunt Hermione," he whispered, wringing his hands but he quickly shoved them down to clutch at the side of his jeans.

Hermione eyed him for a long moment, feeling like McGonagall, and then nodded once. "First; you're going to need to control your abilities. They don't have magic here - or at least, Ned never told me that they did."

Teddy scrunched up his face, wrinkling his nose, but quickly his anxiety-driven violet hued hair faded and darkened into his natural black - from Nymphadora's side of the family. His eyes, however, he kept a warm brown, almost amber-like, like Hermione's, but also in deference for his father's heritage.

Trying to ease into a less tense atmosphere, Hermione grinned and winked. "Much better."

Teddy grinned back.

"Second, clothing. We'll transfigure things to look like everyone else's," said Hermione. With a slight frown, she thought back to what Ned and Robert wore when she saw them at the Eyrie: solid coloured tunics, loose trousers, leather belts, and boots. Given that she was working with cotton flannel and jeans on Teddy, the material and construction maintained its integrity, leaving Teddy in some very clean and - with a few more personal tweaks and flairs that he had inherited from his mother - avant garde Westeroi styles.

"What about you, Aunt Hermione?" asked Teddy, running his hand down what used to be his flannel shirt and pulling a face at the slightly fuzzy quilted waistcoat over his long-sleeve t-shirt that morphed into a tan tunic.

Hermione's nose twitched as she thought of what she wanted to look like, an almost long-forgotten part of her from her childhood and the TriWizard Tournament peeking out. She ran her hands down over her shoulders and sides, all the way to her hips and let the magic slow non-verbally as it altered her comfortable and professional blazer and jean combo.

Feeling mischievous, Hermione twirled, showing off the long dress. "What do you think, Teddy? It suits me?"

The dress was long, sleeveless floor-length piece in dark navy blue with soft pleats from her waist down. There was a significant v-neck dip that went all the way to nearly her belly button, framed by ruffles that curled from the shoulders. Laid on top of the navy was a silver lace overlay, dots sparkling like stars in a night sky and providing some modesty for the v-front. The back had a similar dip and lace overlay.

"Whoa... Aunt Hermione…!" Teddy's eyes went wide and he breathed out, "You look beautiful!"

"Thank you, Teddy," she replied. "Now, let's see if we can find ourselves a room."

"But we don't have any money!" protested Teddy, nervously following her as they stepped out from the alley. The change in light from muted to the brightness of the cobblestone street, the sun shining down, unhindered from tall buildings on either side, made Teddy blink. "What currency do they even use here?"

"Gold and silver," replied Hermione smartly, weaving around a man slumped against some barrels, Teddy hot on her heels. They began moving northward, away from the piers and docks and the tightly packed buildings. "Which we don't have."

"So how are we getting a room then?" asked Teddy curiously as the street opened up, widening, and the buildings began to grow taller, stronger in structural design, and less shanty-like.

Hermione sighed, muttering something that sounded like  _I can't believe I'm going to paraphrase Ron here_. She eyed the teenager. "Are you a wizard or not, Teddy Lupin?"

Teddy paused, his entire being stilling for a moment as Hermione continued to move through the crowd of people selling wares (like jewelry, swords, or exotic foods), shouting at those walking by; there were a few patrolling guards in gold cloaks that bowed their heads as they saw her, one even going so far to mutter, "My Lady."

Teddy then sprinted after her, eyes wide when they were finally walking side-by-side.

"Do you - that is to say - are we -?" he broke off, eyes darting this way and that as Hermione stopped in front of a nice looking building far from where they began.

"It's distasteful, but I don't fancy sleeping outside in King's Landing," she replied with a shrug, and then pushed open the door to the inn, Teddy trailing after her, his mouth pressed in a long, thin line.

The interior was well-maintained, if not a bit dark with the only light coming from a series of hanging sconces and the open, glass-free window near the back of the inn, which overlooked a very small garden. There were several benches at three long tables, and then a few smaller round tables dotted near the corners and edges of the room, particularly near a long bar. At the end of the bar, furthest from the door, was a crooked and narrow staircase.

"My Lady," greeted a low, masculine voice, and Teddy turned to see that Hermione had strode up to the barman, a winsome smile on her lips. The man looked captivated by her.

"Hello," his aunt-in-name greeted, fluttering her eyelashes. Teddy's mouth wanted to drop open in shock, but he controlled his initial response; it wouldn't do for him to lose control of his emotions and have his hair change colour!

While he regained control of his shock, he had missed much of the discussion between Hermione and the barkeep; what he didn't miss was her bringing her hand up to rest on the bar, cupping her chin as she leaned forward. It made the v-neck of her dress more noticeable and the man's eyes were drawn to the action.

Then - she moved her other hand across his vision, a nonverbal and wandless  _confundus_  hitting the man.

 _Blimey!_  thought Teddy.  _Aunt Hermione just Jedi mind-tricked the barman! That is so…!_

Then, she was turning and beckoning the teen towards her. "Teddy, love - Nathen here owns this lovely inn and has a room for us to stay in. Isn't that kind of him?"

Teddy looked back and forth between Hermione and the slightly dazed Nathen - but he wasn't sure if it was because of the confundus charm, or Hermione's cleavage.

"There's no finer establishment outside the court in all of King's Landing for you and your son, my Lady," the barkeep, Nathen, beamed at them both.

Teddy turned to Hermione and mouthed, " _Son_?"

Hermione's smile was strained. "We'll bring up our luggage later, Nathen. Could we have our room key, please?"

"Of course, my Lady!" the man enthused, turning, and rummaging on his belt for the key ring. He handed over one copy of the room key to them. "Top of the stairs, turn left. Last door on the right. Has a lovely view over the garden and of the Maiden's Vault."

"Thank you," smiled Hermione, ushering Teddy quickly from the bar and up the creaky stairs. He waited as Hermione used  _alohomora_  on the door instead of the key, until she cast a silencing charm, and then exploded, "Did you - did you just use magic on a  _Muggle_ , Aunt Hermione?"

The room was small but held two beds, a fireplace, a small table with two chairs, and a wardrobe. The single window between the beds was open, the shutters pulled back.

Hermione sighed, picked a bed, and bounced on it a bit. She then fell back and let an arm flop over her eyes. "What else would you have me do, Teddy?"

"I- I don't know!" he replied, flailing his arms up. "But it's  _wrong_ , using magic on a Muggle! You could get in serious trouble with the Ministry! What would Uncle Harry do if he knew?"

"One," began Hermione, moving the arm a bit to look at the teen, "We're in another world. The Ministry doesn't exist here. Two, did you want to sleep outside in a foreign city where there are thieves, cutthroats, and other unsavoury characters? How were you planning on eating?"

"I-" Teddy snapped his mouth shut. He slowly trudged over to the other bed and sat on it. His arms hung between his legs. Then, he grumbled, "It doesn't seem right. We're stealing from an honest man."

"We'll find a way to pay him back," said Hermione, sitting up and staring hard at the teen. "I promise, we will. We might have to… procure things a bit unlawfully to begin, but between the two of us, we can figure out a way to make some honest money."

But there was an uncomfortable look on her face like Hermione wasn't entirely sure what they could do next in this strange, unfamiliar land.

Both slept poorly that night.

* * *

They decided on a divide and conquer strategy the following morning over breakfast with questionable sausage, runny eggs, and hard bread. Hermione was going to go wander and see what people spoke to her about, looking like a Lady, while Teddy was to use his abilities as a metamorphmagus to blend into various areas of King's Landing and see what help was needed to earn money.

"We'll avoid coming up from the river," said Hermione thoughtfully, her elbows on the table and her hands gripping a small mug but grimacing at the taste of their version of tea. "That's where we arrived, and we don't want to go looking there if someone recognized us."

Teddy nodded, gamely chewing on his hard bread. "I'll go in the opposite direction, towards that large circular dome."

"Then I'll go… relative to our current position, north, to the other side of the wall. We'll meet up at dusk by the Red Keep?"

A few more details were hashed out, and then, with one final parting word to the teenager ("Don't use your wand if you can help it."), Hermione was gone, believing that Teddy would be fine. After all, he had his wand, he knew how to create a messenger Patronus, and he had his abilities. What could possibly go wrong?

_Three hours later…_

Teddy gave a tiny chuckle as he backed up, eyes flicking from one of the burly, dirty men to the next as they slowly advanced on him. He was stuck in an alleyway near Baelor's Sept, between two grey-white walls that were the height of a man and a half, blocking him in with a thick gate at the end. "Eh… easy now, mates -"

" _We're_  not your mates," the one on the left growled out, swapping his short dagger back and forth between his hands. Teddy dubbed him 'Dags'. "But since you seem to  _think_  we are - how 'bout you share those nice clothes of yours?"

"Oh,  _these_?" asked Teddy, putting a hand on his chest, feeling the transfigured quilt. "These old things? Nah, you don't want these. 'Sides," he eyed the men, feeling brash as he spoke, "They won't fit you."

Dags growled, and then Teddy was being boxed in as the man advanced, his blade out.

"Aw,  _shit_ ," muttered Teddy, ducking under a flying fist from the largest of the three, a barrel-chested man with a smudge of something on his cheek, and spinning on his heel to avoid another swing from the third man. Teddy called him 'Mugs' for his large, meaty hands. He eyed those he danced away.

Dags lunged again, and Teddy used his metamorphmagus abilities to elongate his legs - just a smidge - to push off and avoid the lunge with a giant leap. It, unfortunately, left him directly in the path of the second grungy man, with a gap tooth, who chuckled as Teddy - with his long legs - tripped right into him.

"Balls," muttered Teddy, but he took the momentum and allowed himself to barrel into the man's midsection in a rugby tackle, slamming him on the hard cobblestone. The gap-toothed man wheezed and gasped as the air was knocked out of him.

"Oi!" Dags shouted, face turning tomato red as he paused. His other friend, Mugs, frowned, slipping back a bit warily to watch the teen.

Teddy wiped some hair off his forehead. "Guys. Didn't anyone tell you that three on one odds isn't a fair fight? For you, that is?"

"Fair fight?" echoed Dags. "Boy, we just wanted your money purse. Now, I want your  _blood_."

"That seems like a rather dramatic increase," commented Teddy, back to his normal size and body shape as he weaved back slightly. His back hit the gate behind him. He could see the nicely manicured garden beyond, but without using his wand or Apparating, Teddy only had two options: straight forward through the men, or over the gate or wall.

He eyed the spikes sticking out at the top of the gate and nixed that idea.

He then turned back and eyed Dags - the more dangerous opponent - and Mugs who was hanging back.

"Enough!" Dags growled, and then swiped out in a large arc the dagger. Teddy ducked and rolled forward, bringing his left palm out and letting a bit of wandless magic out toward Mugs. The breeze - a strong push - wobbled the man and he stumbled back in surprise.

"What-"

Dags was spinning around and following Teddy who bounced to his feet and then listed left, then right and left again with each swipe Dags made toward his face.

 _There!_  thought Teddy, seeing an opening, and just like Uncle Harry taught him, Teddy let his fist fly and smacked the man in the jaw. His metamorphmagus abilities increased his muscle density for the moment of impact and Dags went reeling back, a tooth flying out as well.

"You utter piece of shite," Mugs snarled.

Teddy mocked the man by placing a hand on his chest. " _Me?_ "

Mugs roared something unintelligible and raced the few meters towards Teddy. Teddy managed to dodge the first fist - but was unprepared for the second as it boxed him at the side of the head, sending him sprawling to the cobblestones near where he floored the first man, who was now groaning and rolling, recovering.

Teddy shook his head weakly, trying to blink past the shock of the hit. It was like being smacked with a bludger.

However, Mugs caught the back of his vest, hoisted him, and then threw him to the opposite side of the alleyway, where his back hit the wall.

Teddy groaned, sliding down the harsh brick.

He rolled to his knees, pushing up with his palms but a foot caught him in the ribs, sending him back to the ground. His breath escaped in a harsh gasp, and he curled, hoping to protect his side.

"Not so tough now, ain't ya?" Mugs taunted above him.

Teddy growled; he was the son of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks - he was not to be beaten down! The next time the foot lashed out, Teddy grabbed it and twisted.

Mugs swore as he lost his balance and slammed into the ground near Teddy, who kicked the man's chin with his foot, swinging up and over to straddle and man's chest.

"Eat - slugs - Mugsy -" gritted out Teddy with each hit of his fist into the man's face. The first strike broke the man's nose; the second turned his head to the right, and the third turned it to the left. He was going for a fourth when he was yanked back.

He hit his tailbone hard, the shocking spiralling up his spine. Above him, the gap-toothed man leered.

Teddy backpedaled as much as he could; scraping his hands on the stone and cutting them open as he avoided the predatory stalk of the other man.

"Look, mate -" tried Teddy, swallowing thickly as the gap-toothed goon picked up Dags' discarded dagger.

"You thhould've run when you had the thhance, boy," the man slurred between his missing teeth.

Teddy's mouth pressed into a tight line. "I don't run."

The man's eyes glinted maliciously. "Too bad."

He raised the dagger to stab down, and Teddy braced himself to roll right or left, depending on the swing - but instead - a sword pierced the man's chest, cloth, blood and other bits spraying forward and all over his face.

Teddy froze and gagged.

The sword was removed with a squelching sound and Teddy traced the move to the two men who stood directly behind the goon as he, vacant-eyed, collapsed to his knees and then face forward, landing just shy of Teddy's boots.

One man was slightly taller - the blond with long, scraggly hair and a roundish face - while the shorter had close cropped brown hair and a neatly trimmed brown beard. They were in very expensive fabrics that were clean, and their armour - as they wore protection and mail of some kind - gleamed and was untarnished.

"Are you alright?" the shorter man asked, extending a hand to Teddy. His chest plate was bronze or gold in colour and had an inlay of a stag's head.

Teddy glanced at him for a moment and then clasped the wrist, allowing the man to heave him to his feet. "Yeah, thanks." He glanced down at the dead man. "I thought Toothy was about to get me there."

The blond at the man's side blinked. " _Toothy_?"

"Yeah," said Teddy, bringing his hand up to indicate his mouth. "You know - like - toothy…"

At the blank look the men were giving him, Teddy sighed and scuffed the toe of his boot on the stone. He fought the urge to shove his hands in his pockets - as he had none anyway - and cleared his throat. "Well. Thank you again. I appreciate the help."

A flash of amusement swept across the brunet's face. "While I enjoy rescuing strange, handsome men, and I'd usually say 'anytime'-" his blond companion scowled. "-the truth is I'd rather not see someone get hurt by these scum. Do you need an escort of my men back to the Keep?"

Teddy glanced behind the man to see several armed soldiers, all with the similar antler and stag combination on their armour. "Erm, no - I'm good -"

"Who are you then?" broke in the blond, his eyes narrowed.

Teddy blinked. "Teddy."

"Teddy  _what_?" the blond continued.

"Peace, Loras," said the brunet, turning to his companion. "There's no need to be so harsh with our young new friend." He eyed Teddy speculatively and asked, "Do you know who we are?"

Teddy shook his head slowly, eyes sliding from one man to the next and feeling something like unease creeping up his spine.

The brunet grinned, his teeth very white against his slightly tanned skin. "I am Lord Renly Baratheon of Storm's End. My companion and truest friend here is Ser Loras Tyrell, the Lord Paramount's youngest son."

"Nice to meet you," said Teddy slowly. Was he supposed to bow? To kneel or something? Why the hell hadn't Binns ever covered something like this in his History lectures? It's not like the Goblin Rebellions  _didn't_  take place over the course of the medieval period in Britain's history.

Renly's mouth quirked into a smirk. "You have no idea what that means, do you?"

Taking a gamble, Teddy rocked back on his heels a bit and shook his head. "Nope."

"Where are you from then, friend?" asked Renly.

"Nowhere near here," replied Teddy, scratching his cheek. He glanced around. "Honestly, I'd never heard of Westeros before we even arrived."

Loras's eyes sharpened. " _We_?"

"Oh, yeah," Teddy floundered. "My um - my -"  _Fuck! What am I supposed to say? My totally-not-blood-related-to-me-Aunt and I?_

Fate was luckily on Teddy's side.

" _TEDDY_!"

The three men spun, and the guards withdrew their swords to point it at the woman in a blue dress as she walked very,  _very_  quickly towards them. Her amber eyes were on the shortest of the three men, and she nonchalantly pushed one of the guard's swords away from her as she passed them.

As soon as she was in front, she ran her hands down his arms, cupped his cheeks, and pressed a hand to his forehead. "Teddy, are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Teddy squirmed and his cheeks flushed red as he caught the dual smirks from Renly and Loras' faces behind Hermione's shoulders. He muttered, " _Mm_ , I'm fine - can we just  _not_?"

"Your face is covered in  _blood_ ," replied Hermione darkly. "That is not fine!"

"It's not mine!" squawked Teddy, sliding from her grasp.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, like  _that_  makes it any better."

"How did you even find me?"

"Did you think I'd let you wander around a strange city without being monitored at all?" countered Hermione, eyes narrowed. "You might be seventeen and considered an adult, young man, but while we're here, I am  _always_  going to watch out for you."

Loras stifled a snigger, but it made Hermione spin around to face the other two men. Her eyes dipped down to Loras's still bloody blade and her face softened, just a bit.

"Do I have you to thank for Teddy's continued safety?" she asked, glancing from the sword to the decorative roses on the man's armour. Her brow furrowed.

Loras sketched a bow, reaching forward and kissing the air above Hermione's hand. "Ser Loras Tyrell of Highgarden, my Lady."

Not to be undone, the other man stepped forward. "Lord Renly Baratheon. I am just pleased that we were here in time to save your son's life."

Something shuttered across Hermione's face - and Teddy inwardly winced. Was that the game that they were going to play here? Mother and son? He mentally sighed.

 _It could be worse_ , he realized; he could be stuck with his "cousins," James Sirius, Albus, and Lily, or even Fred. He shuddered.

"Baratheon?" echoed Hermione. "Are you related to a Robert Baratheon by any chance?"

Renly and Loras exchanged a quick look, and the guards behind them shifted, their armour clanking. There was something unreadable in Renly's face as he spoke. "Aye. He's my eldest brother. How are you acquainted with him?"

The two men shot Teddy a look now, both suspicious as they scanned him from head to toe, lingering on his dark hair. Taken aback, Teddy's mouth dropped open and he stared back at them, bewildered.

"I briefly saw him sparring once, at the Eyrie when I visited a friend of mine there," explained Hermione slowly, her own eyes narrowed. "Eddard Stark of Winterfell?"

Then all of Renly's tension bled away, and Loras let go of his sword's hilt. "Oh, Ned! My brother's  _other_  brother, in all but name! Gods be good, this must have been almost a score ago!"

"Just about I suppose," replied Hermione.

Renly offered his arm. "My Lady - ah, my apologies - what is your name?"

"Hermione Granger," answered Hermione, looping her arm with Renly's offered one. They slowly began walking, with Teddy and Loras trailing just behind.

"Ah, Lady Granger," nodded Renly, a smile on his face, "I'm afraid that my brother is not in King's Landing at the moment. In fact, you just missed him! He's going north to see his old friend."

Hermione's face scrunched up. "I'm sorry - but why would your brother be in King's Landing? Isn't he lord of his family seat?"

Renly shook his head. "Oh, no. My, you  _must_  have travelled far to not have heard the news!"

"News?" asked Teddy slowly, frowning.

Loras and Renly shared another shocked look. Loras spoke next, his tone incredulous. "Of Robert's Rebellion? The war against the Targaryens? Robert Baratheon becoming  _King_  of Westeros?"

The woman on Renly's arm froze, her face dramatically paling. "What?"

"Lady Granger!" Renly reached to hold on to her tightly. "Are you well? Ser Cuy - quick - send word to the Maesters at the Keep-!"

"No," Hermione reached out and gripped Renly's green tunic under his mail. Teddy darted forward to her side. "No, it's alright - I just - it's been so long - I didn't know -"

"Lady Granger," began Loras, frowning, "What was the last news you had of Westeros? Before you left?"

Hermione turned to stare at Loras, but it was rather blank. "Harrenhal. Rhaegar gave Lyanna the crown."

Renly's inhale was a hiss and Loras swore under his breath.

"My Lady Granger," said Renly, his voice low as he placed one hand on top of the other on hers, where it clutched his sleeve, "Where are you staying? As a friend of the Lord Paramount of the North, and a woman of standing, I cannot in good conscience have you stay at some -  _inn_  when there is room at the Red Keep. Please, you must stay with me in the Baratheon royal chambers."

" _Whoa_ ," said Teddy, drawing attention to him, "Royal chambers? What?"

Renly nodded. "Indeed. My brother is now King of the Seven Kingdoms, and I," he grinned, "Am the Master of Laws."

"Wicked," breathed Teddy.

"Now, please," directed Renly, as they continued walking, "Tell me about yourselves. How is that you know Lord Stark, Lady Granger?"

Still shaken by the news, neither Renly nor Loras missed with keen eyes as she touched the inner wrist that was nestled by Renly's arm, or the slightly fond smile that touched her lips.

"I… see," murmured Renly, glancing at Loras. His companion sent him a small, secretive smile, and both, at the same time, thought of the prickly rose growing from a stag's brow that they shared on their hips.

Loras cleared his throat. "And you, Lord Teddy?"

Teddy burst out laughing, shocking Loras. "Lord Teddy - ha! No, no, mate, it's Edward. My name, that is. But everyone calls me Ted or Teddy."

The blond man's eyes narrowed. "So 'Ted' is a nickname from Edward?" his eyes cut to Renly. "Like 'Ned' is for Eddard?"

Teddy shrugged. "I guess…"

Hermione shook her head, interjecting with her professor's voice. "No, Ser Loras is correct, Ted. When you have a limited number of names - and many that are similar, like here with Eddard and Edwyn - people often add a consonant for the first letter of these names to create the nicknames like yours. Hence, 'Ted' for  _Ed_ -ward. Or, in the case that Ser Loras is referring to, 'Ned' for  _Edd_ -ard."

Another look was shared between the two armoured men.

"Aye," said Renly, forcing a grin on his lips. "Now, Lady Granger, shall we? We have much to catch you and your son up on. Also, Teddy - you must tell me -"

Teddy perked up and turned his attention to Renly who offered him a very serious expression. "Yes?"

" _Who_ designed your tunic…?"

* * *

Ned wondered how his life came to this - to this moment, as he sat in his chair on the dais in Winterfell's great hall; with Catelyn glaring at him from Queen Cersei's other side, three seats down. Next to him, Robert laughed loudly, pulled a buxom servant into his arms, and burrowed his face in the valley between her breasts.

Ned sighed, sloshing his ale around in his cup.

 _Of course, everyone else was having a good time_ , he groused, eyes flitting over to his eldest son, Robb, laughing with their ward Theon Greyjoy, Cley Cerwyn, and Daryn Hornwood. His eldest, with his mother's colouring of auburn hair and blue eyes, sniggered into his drink, eyes wide and as he and his friends watched the drama unfolding further down the table.

Ned's eyes followed and - if he wasn't in front of an entire audience, he would've let his head fall into his hands - he winced. Sansa, his eldest daughter, was making cow eyes at the Crown Prince, her loyal friend Jeyne Poole at her side. As Sansa flipped her long red hair over her shoulder, Ned realized that both were ignoring the danger: his youngest daughter, Arya, as she filled a spoon full of stew and -

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, glad Robert couldn't hear him. However, Vaylon, behind him, did and sent a quizzical glance at his Lord, but at the loud shriek, he sighed.

Sansa froze, staring at her sister in horror as the stew slid down her front and plopped onto the table.

"Arya! You little  _heathen_!" cried a shrill Sansa, tears in her eyes.

Robb, laughing loudly with his friends, glanced at the head table and schooled his face quickly, realizing that his parents were watching. Ned watched as he stood from an unspoken signal of Catelyn's, picked Arya up under her arms and said something which made Arya's face crumple.

The last of his brood, Bran, his brown-haired, brown-eyed, mousy, and book-oriented son, was behaving perfectly as he sat with the Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen, sitting with a straight back and excellent manners, which made him Catelyn's favourite.

But while those were his children with Catelyn Tully, his eyes sought out a mirror reflection of black hair and grey eyes on a solemn face half-hidden in the shadows at the back of the hall. That figure, a teen just a few months shy of his eldest, quickly rose to his feet and disappeared through the back door, out into Winterfell's courtyard.

 _Jon_ …

Sometimes Ned would look at his four children, and Jon, and wonder  _what if_.

What if - Brandon was still alive and he married Catelyn instead? Would they be his? Would he be  _happy_  with his wife? Would she be happy with him, knowing that he had relations with Barbrey Ryswell, with Ashara Dayne?

What if - he had refused to marry Catelyn, had spurned both Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully's deal for his army to fight the Targaryens, stating he was in love with someone else? Would they have won that battle of the Trident? Would they have won the war?

What if - he didn't listen to Hoster or Catelyn's demands over the years, demands that he needed another son beyond Robb to ensure the succession of the Stark line? As a precaution that what happened to his family ensured the line survived? After two girls following Robb, Ned had put his foot down, so it was quite the surprise to return from war with the Ironborn to realize Catelyn was pregnant again.

What if - he heard from Hermione after that last time they connected when they were eighteen? At the beginning of the end for him, in Harrenhal; and her torture for her? Did she even survive? The last he saw of her, the chandelier falling in the ballroom, glass, beads, and crystal going everywhere and Harry and Ron were escaping with Hermione's twitching body.

Once, Ned thought he heard something from their connection - voices -

" _The funeral will be later today-"_

" _I-I can't - please don't make me go-"_

And he panicked, withdrawing from that connection and the voices so quickly that something  _snapped_  and then he was racing south to Dorne and making promises to Lyanna and regretting what he had done, everything he had done and not done, and -

He never heard from Hermione again.

The first time he held Robb, he tried. He searched for the connection between them, but it was painful and jagged, like a frayed string. He wanted Hermione to see his son, the only child he would ever have, the product of a bargain struck. His soul mate could understand doing whatever was necessary for family in war, surely.

But there was no answering pull on the frayed string; just muted silence. And Ned feared the worst.

Catelyn tried, and in his grief, his redheaded daughter was born, a walking reminder of his weakness with her mother's looks and Southron airs and graces. She was antithetical to Hermione in all the ways that matter and Ned swore off his wife, the woman who wasn't his soul mate, who didn't understand why he brought Jon to Winterfell, who played favourites with her children, and created dissent amongst the servants with her distinctly non-Northern ways.

Even now, he felt her glare, and he shifted a bit in his seat.  _Gods, I need to get away from this._

With the King sufficiently distracted, and the Queen begging off the rest of the feast as her gold-clad brother escorted her to her royal rooms, Ned took the opportunity to flee.

He slipped from the room by sticking to the shadows, back to the wall until he reached a side door and he passed through it, ending up on the same flagstone patio where he once danced with Hermione. Just at the bottom of the steps, on the compacted dirt ground off to the side, was Jon, swinging a sword angrily at a bucket-head target.

The boy he claimed as his bastard son was panting heavily, sweat beaded along his hairline. He was unaware of his audience from three separate corners of the yard: from Ned, near the stairs; from a short man; and from a figure in black on a horse coming from the main gate.

As a stable boy appeared, the man in black hopped off his horse and called out, "Is he dead yet?"

Jon turned, surprise on his face. Then, a smile spread and he strode forward. "Uncle Benjen!"

Ned watched as the two embraced, laughing; his heart swelled at the sight of Jon surrounded by Starks - by family.  _This_  was what Catelyn couldn't understand;  _this_  was where Jon belonged.

"You've got bigger," Benjen was saying as they pulled back from the hug. "I rode all day - I didn't want to leave you alone with the Lannisters." He paused, looking down and then at his nephew. "Why aren't you at the feast?"

Jon hesitated and a flash of bitterness appeared but then his face was schooled. "Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to see a bastard in their midst."

Ned's heart clenched. Another topic he and his wife disagreed on - Jon's place within the family.

"Well, you're always welcome at the Wall. No bastard was ever refused a seat there."

Resolution firmed Jon's face and Ned's heart dropped somewhere near his stomach. "So take me with you when you go back!"

Benjen rocked back on his heels a bit, mouth open in surprise as he struggled to find something to say. "Jon-"

Yet, before Benjen could speak further, Ned strode down the steps, the sound of his boots loud in the silence of the courtyard.

Both turned, Benjen's long, tied-back hair swishing and Jon's face turning to surprise that his father might have overheard him.

"Ned," greeted Benjen, and then he was moving from Jon's side. Ned clutched at his brother in their hug, thumping him solidly on the back. As they drew apart, something in Benjen's eyes had Ned frowning.

"Ben…?"

Benjen shook his head, and with his arm around his older brother, turned back to face Jon, who stood shock still. "Father…"

In his wildest, most delirious moments, Ned would forget the truth of Jon's parentage, particularly when disciplining Jon and his other children, when Jon made that particular scowl (which was all Rhaegar) due to some injustice or whatnot, and think  _Gods, what would Hermione do? What would she say if she were your mother?_

He'd immediately feel guilty for betraying the truth; of forgetting Lyanna. It was often enough that Jon rarely was disciplined - but luckily, the boy had a better head on his shoulders than Ned's rearing. He had his hands full with reigning in Arya, whom he saw as Lyanna reborn, and mixing his guilt, anger, and fear alongside longing, nostalgia, and pride.

"Jon," greeted Ned instead.

Benjen looked between the two, and said, "Well. I'm going inside where it's warm and find me some ale. We'll talk later, brother?"

Ned nodded, and then Benjen was gone - but there were still three in the yard.

"Father," said Jon, eyes wide. "Let me go to the Wall with Uncle Benjen.  _Please_. You know I can't stay here. Let me find my purpose in this life."

Ned levelled a stare at the teen, who recognized the look and went mulishly silent. "You will  _always_  have a place here. Winterfell is your home."

Jon looked away and Ned sighed, knowing the root of the tension. "Not if you leave to go South."

"The Wall isn't what you think it is," tried Ned instead, imploring his sister's son to listen to him. "There is no honour or glory to be found there, Jon. Just the cold, Wildlings, and an empty expanse of ice that goes on forever."

"Lord Stark is quite right," inputted a new voice. "But that doesn't stop those from going, anyway. Some might even find the emptiness and cold welcoming."

From his corner under an arched passageway, Tyrion Lannister stepped into the flickering torch light.

Jon frowned. "What were you doing back there? Were you listening in?"

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Hardly. I'm preparing for a night in the company of what my sweet sister calls 'northern savages.'" He had a flask in one hand, which he raised and drank from deeply, finally leaning against a post. "Personally, I've always wanted to see the Wall."

"Lord Tyrion," greeted Ned, his tone guarded.

"Lord Tyrion?" echoed Jon, glancing between his father and the shorter man. "The Queen's brother?"

Tyrion lifted the flask in salute. "My greatest accomplishment." His eyes flicked between the two Northerners. "And you - this must be your bastard, Lord Stark."

Jon bristled and Ned placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, sorry -" although he didn't sound sorry at all. "Did I offend you?"

"Jon is my son," said Ned quietly.

Tyrion didn't blink. "But he  _is_  a bastard, is he not? From what I remember of Catelyn Tully, it appears that your boy here shares none of her colouring…" he turned to look at Jon, deliberately looking at him from top to bottom: at his black curls, his pale skin, his grey eyes, and his tall, thin body. "-Making you… the bastard. Let me give you some advice, bastard: never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you."

Ned's mouth tightened.  _True, but bluntly put_.

Jon's ire spiked and Ned tightened his grip on his shoulder as the teen spat out, "What the hell do you know about being a bastard?"

Tyrion gave a bitter smile, rolling his back off the post. He began walking towards the doors of the hall, offering a parting piece of wisdom and insight over his shoulder as he did so: "All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes."

"What a horrible man," muttered Jon. "Who asked him?"

"Lord Tyrion gives his opinions out freely," replied Ned quietly. "His words are uncouth and cruel, and yet they hold truth in them."

"Father?" asked a shocked Jon.

Ned sighed. "Come, Jon. Let us visit the Godswood. I could use some quiet."

"Aye, Father," said a subdued Jon, trailing after him.

 _Hermione… what do I do?_  thought Ned, glancing at Jon from the corner of his eye and frowning.  _I wish you were here..._

* * *

**TBC...**


	4. THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recognizable dialogue from 1x02, "The Kingsroad" in this chapter.

THREE

[ ](https://beta.photobucket.com/u/TraceyT86/p/71e07eda-a3ac-4242-9ed6-80e59612a8b8)

 

* * *

Hermione quickly realized that Renly and Loras were operating under several false assumptions; and yet, she did nothing to dissuade the two men from those assumptions. Teddy, of course in pure Remus Lupin fashion, seemed oblivious to the connections the two men were making - or, like in true Nymphadora Tonks fashion, was ignoring it and continuing on blithely.

As soon as Renly realized that Teddy was  _not_  in fact Robert's, he made the assumption that he was Ned Stark's - given that the age would place him a year ahead of Robb - Ned's eldest and heir - and from before his marriage with the Tully girl. Teddy's natural Black-family black hair would lend him some credence to the pretense; his lupine-like eyes from his father mimicked Hermione's own strange amber-toned brown eyes; and his curls matched hers and his height was all Remus's - as well as those of the Northerners.

Hermione also knew that Renly and Loras were aware of her connection to Ned due to her slip toward her soul mark - who knew the youngest Baratheon was such a romantic? It was rather sweet.

But Hermione was also taking advantage of Renly's sweetness; the man, who did honestly like Ned, had taken her and Teddy in as "close friends; you're practically family, my Lady!", and had spent oodles of gold dragons on them both to properly attire them in the height of King's Landing fashion. They were given the finest silks, guest rooms with the nicest views over Blackwater Bay, allowance coins, and Renly even offered them a rotation of six Baratheon guards.

Yet, the luster and shine of being in a different world quickly faded when Teddy realized that garderobes were filled with sweet smelling hay and grass to mask the scent of bodily fluids that were still disposed by chamber pot.

It was, understandably, a bit too much for him.

"At first it was like -  _ooh cool sword mate_  - but honestly, after hearing Loras go on and on about the different kinds of swords - did you know, Aunt Hermione? That there are many different kinds of swords? Broadsword, bastard sword, half-and-half, rapier, stiletto! - I got a bloody lecture on them  _and_  a demonstration!"

Hermione hid her smile behind the book she was reading.

Teddy continued his rant, stalking back and forth in front of the chair Hermione was sitting in. "Honestly, Aunt Hermione - if I were in Gryffindor, I could've pulled a joke that would've made Uncle George howl in laughter and Uncle Ron say 'good one, mate' because  _cor blimey_!" he rolled his eyes. "These knights  _sure_  are compensating for  _something_!  _No one_  could love swords that much!"

"It's part of their culture," replied Hermione evenly, although inwardly very amused as her eyes crinkled up at the corners.

"Their culture is bananas," grumped Teddy, flinging himself into the other chair with gusto and crossing his arms as he slid down so that his bum barely rested on the edge of the seat. "I'm not sure why Loras and Renly are so keen on me learning all this anyway. I doubt we'll be here that long."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "Well… that might not be quite true."

"What?" he said, baldly. He sat up and uncrossed his arms. "What do you mean?"

"I haven't  _quite_ found a reason as to why we were transported here," answered Hermione, a slight frown on her lips. She reached up and ran a hand through her brown hair, playing with the end of the lock. "And the resources Renly has kindly been providing me haven't been as forthcoming as I'd like. I'm going to have to speak with someone."

"Surely not that odious Maester Pycelle? I saw him once and that was enough for me!" Teddy shivered.

"No, not him," said Hermione. "Perhaps Varys."

"Not Baelish?"

Teddy's grin was all fang. Hermione rolled her eyes. "That man. He reminds me of Lucius Malfoy. Although with Tom Riddle's charms."

"And he grew up to become Voldemort," nodded Teddy knowingly. "Shall we begin to refer to him as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Seems appropriate."

Hermione laughed.

Teddy warmed to the idea. "And Varys can be Professor Snape! Ooh! Ooh! And Pycelle as old Sluggy!"

"'Old Sluggy'? Goodness, Ted, where did you hear that one?" asked Hermione in amusement.

"Marauder's Map," he replied. "You know how they get."

Hermione made a face.  _Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs proudly present_ , my arse! she thought, recalling the hilarious story Harry once told her of the map telling 'Snivellus to keep his big nose out of their business.'

"Anyway," said Teddy, "I still see no reason to know so much about swords."

"Loras is a knight, and Renly is a Lord," replied Hermione. "What else are they going to talk to you about? You're only three years younger than them but you know nothing of this world. I'd imagine they want to share their interests with you out of friendship."

 _And they think that Ned is your father and I truly your mother,_  thought Hermione.  _It would be odd for the eldest son, even a bastard, to not know these things in Westeros_.

"I suppose," mused Teddy. "It's not like I can talk Star Wars with them."

"I don't think they'd  _quite_ appreciate your admiration for Luke Skywalker," agreed Hermione. She put the book down.

Anything else was interrupted by a knock on their shared living quarters' door. Teddy was the one who rose from his seat, bounding over to the door with endless energy and yanking it open. On the other side, one of Renly's guards bowed his head.

"Lady Granger," the man said as his head came up in a very formal voice. "Lord Renly has requested the pleasure of you and Lord Teddy to dine with him tonight."

Teddy made a face at the name, one hand still clutching the doorframe as he stood just off to the side. However, Hermione rose from her seat, carefully placing the book aside, and glanced at the Metamorphmagus to see his thoughts on the invitation.

He shrugged.

Hermione turned back to the guard. "Please thank Lord Renly for us; we'd be delighted to attend. When would dinner be?"

"Lord Renly sups at sundown, in a few hours," the guard replied, his voice slipping into more genial tones now that they agreed. "Shall I return to escort you both?"

"We'd appreciate that," agreed Hermione, and then the guard nodded once more and turned on his heel noisily as his armour clankered.

Teddy waited until he was down the hall, watching him carefully, and then shut the door. Once he had done so, he turned to face his aunt-in-name-only. "What do you suppose that is about?"

"Probably just checking in on us," replied Hermione, turning back to her book. She sighed as she realized she wasn't going to get the answer she wanted from it and placed it back in the pile to return to Renly. "I'm really not learning much about the necklace that brought us here, Ted; nor am I learning about curse marks here that would explain how we travelled to this realm."

"What does that mean?" Teddy's voice trembled a bit.

Hermione's finger traced the edge of the book, absently, as she spoke. "That King's Landing might not have what I need."

"So where will?" asked Teddy, hesitance creeping into his voice.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't actually know enough of this place to give you an answer. I think I've visited here to count on my fingers and toes, and still have spares."

Teddy's face twisted. His voice was tentative and a bit shrill when he asked, "Does that mean we're stuck here?"

"No!" Hermione's eyes flew up to Teddy's, and she shook her head. " _No_. I refuse to believe that. Magic brought us here, and magic can bring us back. We just - we just have to go over a few speed bumps first."

"Like what?" Teddy crossed his arms.

Hermione's eyes drifted away and she sighed, "I don't know yet, Teddy. But we'll figure it out." When she brought her eyes back up to meet his, they blazed with determination, and her voice hardened. "I  _will_  figure it out."

* * *

According to the fantasy realm they were now in, both Teddy and Hermione dressed up for the occasion of dining in with Renly (and, presumably, Loras). Since Renly had been the one to commission their clothing, both were dressed in the highest of King's Landing fashion and with complementary colours to their skin tone and hair colour.

Teddy, unused to the layered jerkins and shirts and doublets and tight breeches and trousers used magic to alter many of the designs delivered to their quarters to mimic the street/Muggle fashion from their world, and as such, was strutting down the hallway confidently in a medieval version of khakis and a layered button-up and vest combination. Hermione, on the other hand, pouted in distaste as she plucked on the plunging neckline to the gauzy blue silk dress she wore.

Teddy snickered as he side-eyed her. "You look lovely - if you'd stop frowning."

Hermione scowled in return. "When you're bare from navel to chin, we'll talk about who should be smiling or not, Teddy."

They turned the corner of the wide hall they were ambling down and were stopped by two guards in the yellow and black colours of the House Baratheon. The two looked them over (Teddy grinning cheekily, and Hermione staring at them impassively), until Loras stuck his head out the door, his curls in disarray.

"What's going on out here?" he asked, eyeing the guards, only then spotting Hermione and Teddy. His face transformed from a stern frown to a jovial smile and his eyes brightened. "Teddy! Lady Granger! Please, come in."

At this, the abashed guards stepped aside and Hermione and Teddy entered a warm room, richly decorated with hanging tapestries depicting battles and histories unfamiliar to them; there was swaths of yellow and black and shades of purple thrown in rich velvet and gauzy silks, as hanging curtains for the thick, panelled, mullioned windows or as throws along chaise loungers. It was decadent but not overly so; it was tasteful and refined in a way that was very much  _Renly_.

The man in question caught Hermione's wandering eye as she took in the receiving room. He sat at the head of a small, rectangular table, indolent in a way that likened Hermione to Teddy's own sprawling recline in chairs.

 _I wonder where he picked that bad habit up from,_  thought Hermione with a grin she stifled behind a polite smile.

"Lord Renly," she greeted, and he gracefully rose from the seat and to not only clasp her hands, but also bring them to his lips for a kiss.

"My Lady Granger," he greeted warmly, letting go of her hands and holding her eyes only to turn and greet Teddy with an equally warm (and enthusiastic), "and Teddy! Please! Come, sit."

Loras had migrated to the table, at Renly's right, leaving the other head and Renly's other side open for Teddy and Hermione. By unspoken decision, Hermione took the head and Teddy the last free seat.

Almost immediately, a few servants appeared, carrying platters of steaming roasted pheasant, potatoes, and slices of ham, figs, and dipping sauces while a female servant presented a long board of sliced bite-sized bread with two bowls of white and dark vinegar. Another servant poured ale for Renly and Loras, Hermione and Teddy opting for wine.

Renly watched the parade of food and drink keenly, and then once everything was set, he dismissed the servants with a negligent wave of his hand. To his guests, he said, "Please - eat."

As surreptitiously as she could, Hermione flicked her wrist under the table, only catching Teddy's eyes as she nonverbally cast  _muffliato_ ; if there was something she learned in the magical world, it was that someone was  _always_  listening.

Conversation flowed between the four; Loras and Renly told laughing tales of Teddy's embarrassment in handling a sword for the first time; the tasks the two made him do as their 'squire'; and then some gossip of those at court and what intrigues they were getting up to without the eyes of the Queen on them.

"And how have you been occupying yourself while we teach young Teddy here the fine art of swordsmanship, Lady Granger?" asked Renly, lounging back as they cleared the last of their plates. His hand wrapped around his nearly empty mug of ale, and Loras gamely leaned over with a cask and poured some more of the amber liquid.

"Hermione, please," she began with a smile, "There's no need to stand on such ceremony when we're among friends and in such intimate quarters."

Renly and Loras grinned back.

"Hermione, then," agreed Loras, finishing Renly's drink. "But if only you call us by our names, as well." He turned to the carafe of wine, pointing toward it but Hermione shook her head.

"To answer your question, Renly," began Hermione, very aware of the social implications and importance of calling the two men by their first names, "I've been scrounging through the library here in the Red Keep for more information on what's happened since King Robert took the throne. And on a necklace that - let's say, unknowingly - came into my possession. I'm fairly certain now it's a Targaryen piece, but how we came across it so far from here is quite the mystery."

"A Targaryen piece?" echoed Renly, frowning. "Do you have it with you? It might be something that was stolen from the Keep in the months leading up to the Sack of King's Landing… and ended up trading hands until it reached the two of you."

Hermione reached into the billowing sleeve of her dress and used magic to summon it from her shrunk ever-present beaded bag, currently wrapped around her left wrist like a charm bracelet. She extracted the black onyx medallion deftly and extended it across the table for Renly and Loras to take and look at.

Renly handled it carefully, his frown pronounced as he hemmed and hawed over the design. Equally, Loras leaned forward to look, running his fingers over the three-headed raised dragon on the rectangular piece.

"It's fine workmanship," he finally said. "And it is delicate. I could almost imagine it being something my sister would appreciate and wear."

Renly nodded absently. "Yes, but look - here -" with his pinky finger, he ran the tip over the dragon. "This isn't the usual Targaryen standard. The dragon is much more curved and raised to fit in the shape of the piece rather than the usual curved, circular shape that the sigil is."

"Hmm," agreed Loras.

"So what does that mean?" asked Teddy curiously. "Is it  _not_  a Targaryen piece?"

"It has all the makings and design of it," finally admitted Renly, shrugging and handing it back. "It looks enough like what I've studied and seen of the Targaryen sigil to be the same, but there are enough differences that it might be a cadet branch, or even something from Valyria."

He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, taking a long gulp of his ale before saying, "You might want to take it to the Spider. He'd know more."

Hermione sighed, pocketing the necklace again. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Loras smirked into his drink. "Not a fan?"

She shook her head. "Where I'm from, I'm known for being blunt. As much as I can handle deception and intrigue, I still prefer straight talk over riddles."

Renly snorted. "I can see why you'd want to avoid speaking to our Master of Whispers, then, since all he does is deal in secrets and talk in half-truths and riddles."

"Well, no matter of it," finished Hermione with a shrug.

"Has that been all? Research?" asked Loras. "How dull."

"Well, where we are from, we don't have curse marks," piped up Teddy, feeling strangely indignant on Hermione's behalf for Loras' dismissive attitude to scholarly pursuits. He wasn't a Ravenclaw, but he did have a fairly good work ethic, and the man had prickled his Hufflepuff pride.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Loras, nearly dropping his mug. Renly set his down firmly.

Teddy blushed, glancing at Hermione and wondering if he spoke out of turn, but she sighed and motioned for him to continue with a tip of her chin. He turned back to the other two, very aware at their piercing gazes firmly fixed on him.

"Erm, where we're from," he began, slowly, "They're called  _soul marks_. And not everyone has one."

"Soul marks? What is the difference then?" asked Renly.

"From my understanding and what Ned told me," interrupted Hermione, idly playing with the stem on her wine glass, "Here, you consider anyone who has the same matched mark getting together as disastrous. That bad things happen when they do."

Loras scowled and Renly sighed. "Unfortunately, our history is rather tipped in that direction.

Hermione nodded. "Ned had mentioned Jenny's story…?"

"Ah yes… Jenny of Oldstones," sighed Renly, playing up the sound by leaning back and steepling his fingers in front of his face. "Prince Duncan Targaryen loved Jenny - a common girl - so much that he broke he betrothal with a Baratheon to marry her, even against his father's wishes. He eventually gave up the throne for her."

"What's so tragic about that?" asked Teddy in confusion.

Loras rolled his eyes, hard, and sneered, "King Aegon tried to bring dragons back at Summerhall, their pleasure palace, and instead burned nearly everyone there alive. Only a few escaped, and Jenny and Duncan were not amongst those."

Teddy blanched, casting a look at his aunt. "B-Burned alive?"

Hermione sent a sympathetic glance and reached out to pat his arm.  _No doubt, he's thinking of the stories he's heard about Death Eaters burning the Burrow, or Diagon Alley, or Hogsmeade, or even the Battle of Hogwarts._

Teddy looked down at the table and muttered, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Nonsense," argued Renly, forcing levity into his voice, "How could you have known? But I must say that it is quite interesting that the marks don't have the same connotation where you are from."

There was something feverish in his eyes that Hermione felt her heart answer.  _I see where this is going_ , she thought, glancing between him and Loras, defiantly looking away as he clenched his jaw.

"But not everyone meets their match," sighed Hermione. "We have a higher population than Westeros. So perhaps statistics has something to do with it."

"Hermione's the leading expert in soul marks where we're from," announced Teddy proudly. "I heard her deliver a talk just before we arrived here."

Renly and Loras shared an amused look, changing the subject. "You call your mother by her name?" grinned Renly.

Teddy sighed. "Are we going to start this again?"

"Lady Hermione," began Loras, as Renly and Teddy took to bickering at each other in low voices, although it was clearly in good fun since both were trying not to smile, "While King's Landing might not have the information for you about the Targaryen piece or curse marks, perhaps Oldtown would?"

Hermione frowned. "Oldtown?"

Loras nodded. "My eldest brother is friends with Lord Hightower. His lands include the Citadel, the largest collection of information in all of Westeros. It is where our Maesters go to train and learn. Although they don't allow women in, I am more than happy to send a raven to Willas and ask for a letter of introduction to give you. You could travel there and present it to Lord Hightower… perhaps he'd be willing to help? He's always been an open-minded sort, from what I remember."

Hermione tapped the tabletop, drumming her fingers as she thought. "That's definitely a good starting place, although I'm not fond of this sexist attitude of not allowing women in."

Loras nodded. "My sister thinks the same. Although Margaery is too clever by half… letting her into the Citadel would be like giving a magician untold powers. She might go mad with knowledge, completely abusing it to her own end." The grin on his face belied the words to paint a picture of a mischievous girl.

Hermione bit back a laugh, but a small chuckle escaped. "The most dangerous kind of female out there: a smart one."

The two were silent a bit longer, before Hermione sighed. "I'm thinking I might need to go… farther than Oldtown for the information I need, though."

Loras's mouth turned down. "How much farther?"

Hermione's eyes skipped from Loras and beyond the joking Renly and Teddy (the latter who was explaining Quidditch to Renly, although he deftly did not mention "broomsticks," "magic," "in the air"), to the windows behind the Master of the Laws. Out there was the ocean, and beyond that, a different continent.

Loras followed her gaze and his mouth dropped open. "My Lady… surely not…?"

Guilty, Hermione turned back to Teddy, who felt her eyes on him and grinned at her. She offered a wobbly smile in return, but he didn't notice anything off from it, and turned back to Renly.

With a sigh, Hermione turned back to Loras and said, "I hope not. But when it comes to things like this, I am rarely rewarded."

* * *

It was the knock on his door that roused him from memories. Ned lifted his head, blinking in the darkness of his solar. How long had he been sitting there, lost in thoughts of  _promise me Ned_ s and  _I'm here, I'm right here'_ s?

"Father?" The door inched open and Jon's messy black curls poked through. His eyes took in the darkness and he awkwardly cleared his throat. "Is this a bad time?"

Ned shook his head, rising to his feet and pushing back a wince as he felt the joint protest. "No, Jon, it's fine. Come in. What can I do for you?"

As Jon entered, Ned turned and struck a flint, lighting the nearest candle on his desk. Once lit, he moved to a few others until the room was illuminated with a soft glow. By then, Jon had sat on one of the two chairs in front of his desk and was watching him quietly.

Ned crossed his arms.

"I - I wish to join the Night's Watch, father," said Jon, his mouth pressed tight.

Ned's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Jon's eyes widened. " _Why_?" he echoed in confusion.

"Why do you wish to join the Night's watch, Jon?" repeated Ned, his voice low and quiet. "Is it because a Stark remembers his duty? Because the Night's Watch is a noble profession, one of protecting the realm from wildlings and other dangers?" He peered at his nephew, with a knowing look in his eyes. "Or are you running away from Winterfell because I - your shield - will be gone?"

Jon's face twisted before he managed to smooth it. He turned his head away and it was such a  _Lyanna_ move that Ned's heart clenched.

"Father, please," he muttered, looking down at his hands. "I don't belong here without you."

"Your place  _is_  here," he insisted instead, moving to sit in the chair next to Jon. "You will  _always_  have a place at Winterfell."

"Winterfell is for a  _Stark_ ," replied Jon bitterly. "And I'm a  _Snow_."

Ned's face pinched. "You  _are_  a Stark. You might not have my name, but you have my blood."

But he could see that was not enough for Jon. The teen turned an angry face towards him and asked, pointedly, "Is my mother alive? Does she know about me? Where l am, where l want to go? Does she care?"

Ned squirmed a bit in his seat, as he struggled to find the words to reply. Jon, coming in so soon after he was caught reliving his memories with Hermione, felt his throat tighten at the reminder of promises to his sister and their weight of guilt and bitter remembrance.

"I -" he cleared his throat but the tightness remained. "Stay in Winterfell, Jon. One more year. If you still wish to join the Night's Watch then, then I will allow you to leave. And -" he paused, trying to sweeten the deal. "And the next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother."

Jon sent Ned a skeptical look.

Ned's lip twitched into a small, pained smile. "Hmm? l promise."

"Promise?" Jon repeated, his voice small and sounding much younger than sixteen.

_Promise me you'll survive!_

_Promise me, Ned._

"I promise, Jon," he intoned, and Jon's smile lit up the solar far more than any of the candles he had lit.

* * *

The next morning, Ned was up early, supervising the servants who were to join him in protecting his family in King's Landing, and wondering which guards he'd set on which of his children to watch them for the duration of the month down to King's Landing.

He was in his solar when Catelyn entered, not knocking as she was prone to do. Instead, she swept in, hands tightening on her dress as she surveyed the notes covering his desk in his tidy, tight scrawl. Her brow furrowed and her blue eyes flashed as she said, coolly, "So that's it. You're going, then."

Ned sighed. "It was a King's command, Catelyn."

"You could have said no," she rebutted, standing at the end of his desk and staring down at him.

"I have no choice," said Ned back, sitting straight in his seat. He refused to be cowed in his own solar. "You know I must go. Not because he's my friend, but because he's the King. And it's good for the children to get out and experience -"

"If that were true, you'd have allowed Bran to be fostered with my brother Edmure in Riverrun," snapped Catelyn, "Like I've been asking you since Bran turned eight."

"Bran going to Riverrun would have just increased ties to family. If you suggested fostering him out elsewhere that wasn't in the riverlands, I would have agreed," argued back Ned. "Furthermore, Robert has asked to betroth Sansa to Joffrey. She should get to know him, and better still,  _I_  would like to get to know him before I commit."

"She'd be Queen one day!" gapped Catelyn, bringing her hands up to her mouth in surprise. Her eyes were alight with wonder. "Of  _course_  you say yes! My wonderful, precious, beautiful daughter!" She then narrowed them at Ned. "You  _must_  say yes."

"I will do what my conscience tells me," retorted Ned, narrowing his own eyes. "Should I see that Joffrey is deserving, then I will agree."

Catelyn scoffed. "That's what you Northern men call your honour - another word for you deciding what's best for others. That's what you tell your families, tell yourselves. Don't lie to me, Ned. I've known you seven and ten years now. You do have a choice - and you've made it."

Ned pursed his lips. "Perhaps."

Catelyn stared hard at him a bit longer, but then nodded once, sharply, and left the solar. Ned sighed; releasing a tension in his shoulders that he hadn't realized was there until his wife had left. Once, maybe, there had been a trickle of affection between them… but not for so many years now.

Not since he returned from the Iron Islands.

 _The feast tonight would be their leaving feast_ , decided Ned. A successful hunting party in the Wolfswood a few days earlier had yielded some excellent meats and Ned could tell that Robert - as well as the Queen - was itching to move on. Her veiled digs, and surprise at finding Catelyn a sympathetic ally in the north was making Ned uneasy.

He chuckled darkly under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Jon Arryn once told him, back when he was eighteen and an army was needed, that marrying the Tully girls to secure Hoster Tully's alliance would bring Ned joy - despite Catelyn being betrothed to his recently deceased elder brother.

" _She'll grow to love you one day," Jon had said, "She'll bore you great soldiers for sons and beauties for daughters."_

Well; Catelyn may have given Ned four lovely children, but she never grew to love him. And from what Ned gathered about Jon's own relationship with Lysa, there was no love there either; even Robert's match with Cersei was coated with malice and disgust.

 _What a fine group of men we are,_  thought Ned, his mouth turning down.  _Three men who went to war and ended up with women who hate them. Such is our lot in life, I suppose_.

His fingers absently traced over his soul mark on his right wrist, rubbing the books and wands that represented Hermione. He plucked at their faded string - that mental connection tying them together. It thrummed, but the tug felt weak and distant. But it wasn't snapped, like it once had been.

Ned sat up in his seat in surprise.

He tugged on the string again, sending a thought along it.  _Hermione?_

He waited, holding his breath, looking around the room and wondering if she would appear, slip right into his life, his home, like she belonged. His solar remained void of life, except for him.

Disappointment swallowed Ned and he shook his head.

"You damn old fool," he muttered. Hermione was never coming back, and it was a silly wish to think it so.

* * *

A week or so later, the King's party was on their way back to King's Landing, making quicker time than when they had travelled north. Currently, they were in the barrowlands, taking a rest for lunch while the women freshened themselves up in a nearby stream.

Robert sighed happily as he leaned back in his chair, half-sprawled as he surveyed the rolling green hills and shaded canopy of the leafy trees above them, relishing in the warmer weather of being south of the Neck.

"Gods, this is country! l've half a mind to leave them all behind and keep going," he grinned, throwing his oldest friend a conspiratorial smile.

Ned, sensing the nostalgia and noticing the distance the guards and Barristan Selmy were keeping, replied a bit more candidly than he normally would. "l've half a mind to go with you."

Robert grinned, widely, with his teeth on display. "What do you say? Just you and me on the Kingsroad, swords at our sides, a couple of tavern wenches to warm our beds tonight?"

"You should have asked me twenty years ago," chuckled Ned, leaning back in his chair.

Robert shook his head. "There were wars to fight, women to marry - we never had the chance to be young."

"l recall a few chances," scoffed Ned, sending Robert a knowing look.

Not even looking abashed, Robert reached for his ale and took a deep swing.

"There was that one - oh, what was her name?" he deflected, turning thoughtful. "That common girl of yours? Becca. With the great big tits you could bury your face in."

" _Bessie_?" said an incredulous Ned. "She was one of  _yours_!"

Robert laughed. "Bessie! Thank the gods for Bessie. And her tits."

He gave a tiny laugh into his drink, fondly reminiscing. Then, he shook his head and said, "Yours was, er - Aleena? No. You told me once. Er - Hennie? Helena? Your bastard's mother?"

Ned froze and croaked out, quietly, "Hermione."

Robert snapped his finger. "That's it! She must have been a rare wench to make Lord Eddard Stark forget his honour." He leaned back in his seat and shook his head, a fond smile on his face. "Gods! I remember you going on about her when we were at the Eyrie. I could have sworn I heard her in your room a few times, too, you old wolf."

He stopped for a moment and then pointedly said, "You never told me what she looked like and I never saw her - you kept her well squirreled away from the rest of us."

Ned's face was stone. "Nor will l."

Robert's brow furrowed. "We were at war."

"I knew her before the war. She is - was - my marked half."

Robert's hand - which was bringing his drink to his mouth - abruptly stopped and his eyes darted to his best friend, wide with shock at the new information. " _Was she?_  Fuck, Ned. Then - Jon's idea? To wed Catelyn Tully?"

There was a shuttered look to Ned now. "It wasn't a choice. It had to be done. We needed the men to win the war."

Angrily, Robert slammed his drink on the table in front of them. It wobbled and then toppled over, and Ned could see several guards, including Selmy, glance over in response, hands on their hilts.

"For the God's sake, Ned! None of us knew if we were gonna go back home again. You're too hard on yourself. You always have been," the large man shook his head and leaned forward in his seat, his voice low as he growled, "If I known - Ned, I swear - I would've helped any way I could. You know that? You  _must_  know that. I'd have hidden you both away at Storm's End-"

"Robert-"

The frosty look Ned sent Robert had him shake his head. "l swear if l weren't your king, you'd have hit me already. The worst thing about your coronation-"

Wanting to change the subject, Ned interjected with a wry tone, "l'll never get to hit you again?"

Robert snorted, but it was self-depreciating. "Trust me, that's not the worst thing." He fished out a small roll of parchment from his tunic and handed it over to Ned, who took it warily. "There was a rider in the night. Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horselord."

Ned sighed and rolled his shoulders back in his chair as he read the short missive. He then rolled it back up and tossed it onto the table. "What of it? Do we send her a wedding gift?"

Robert leaned further forward, staring intently at his oldest friend. "A knife perhaps? A good, sharp one... and a bold man to wield it."

Mouth open, Ned sputtered, "She's little more than a child. Fifteen - sixteen - at most."

"Soon enough that child will spread her legs and start breeding."

"Tell me we're not speaking of this," said Ned quietly, his voice low and trembling with anger.

"Oh, it's unspeakable to you?" Robert snarled, leaning back and away from his friend. "What her father did to your family -  _that_ was unspeakable. What Rhaegar Targaryen did to your sister - the woman l loved. l'll kill every Targaryen l get my hands on."

Feeling candid and letting his annoyance get the better of him, Ned snapped, "But you can't get your hands on this one, can you?"

"This Khal Drogo, it's said he has a hundred thousand men in his horde-"

Ned sighed. "Even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm, as long as they remain on the other side of the Narrow Sea. They have  _no ships_ , Robert."

Robert's closed fist met the table. "There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me usurper!"

" _lf_ the Targaryen boy crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back-"

"-the scum will join him-"

" _He will not cross_. And if by chance  _he does_ , we'll throw him back into the sea!" finished Ned, conviction in his voice. He even tossed his head and chin in the general direction eastward to indicate where Viserys could return.

Robert stared hard at Ned for a long, solid moment. When he spoke, it was quietly, with barely a wobble to his tone as he said, "There's a war coming, Ned. l don't know when, l don't know who we'll be fighting, but it's coming."

A chill sent a shiver down Ned's neck and back. "I hope to the Gods that you're wrong, Robert. I'm tired of war."

A weary look stole over the King's face as he leaned back in his seat.

"Aren't we all," the man said tiredly. "Aren't we all. But I fear this is only the beginning."

* * *

By the time their caravan rode over the bridge just outside King's Landing, covered in ivy and moss, and then through the red-tinted sandstone gates, it was nearly suppertime, and Arya and Sansa had been complaining and at each other's throats for the past hour, with their Septa Mordane barely managing to contain them.

Ned was ready for a few hours' rest, alone in his study. However, the black-haired man waiting for him in the inner courtyard, sticking out in his fancy silks despite how plain they were, amidst the sand, gravel, and palm trees made Ned's heart settle somewhere near his stomach.

He slid from his horse nimbly, Jory doing the same behind him. Over his shoulder, he muttered, "Get the girls and Bran settled in. I'll be back in time for supper."

Jory bowed his head a tiny bit, his long hair slinking forward with the movement.

"And, Jory, you go with them."

"Yes, my lord."

Then, from behind the man, who had strode forward to greet him, another, more familiar face appeared in gold, green, and silk and cotton. The man was lean and had a neatly trimmed black beard, and for a moment, Ned thought he was seeing a ghost of his past.

The young man stepped past the now disgruntled other man, who shut his mouth so tightly and quickly Ned heard the clack of his teeth.

"Welcome, Lord Stark," the other man greeted, with a wide, toothy grin.

Ned found himself smiling back. "Renly! You're looking well."

The youngest Baratheon modestly slid a hand down his chest, smoothing the fabric. "Oh? You think so? How splendid! But you look tired from the road."

"It was quite the trip," replied Ned, diplomatically.

Renly sent him a knowing look, and Ned felt his mouth twitch as he suppressed his smile.

"My apologies, my Lord Stark, my Lord Baratheon," inserted the man with a slightly nasally tone. "But the council awaits."

"The council?" asked Ned, turning to look quizzically at Renly. "Now?"

Renly sighed. "I told them this meeting could wait another day but Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council." He made a face. "The  _honour_ of your presence is requested for our first meeting together with a Hand."

Ned also grimaced and ran a hand down over his mouth, feeling gritty and sticky with dried sweat.  _I don't want to meet the council looking and feeling like the savage they accuse me of. Can this not wait?_

"Renly, perhaps I could have a few moments to freshen up? After all, it  _has_  been a long journey and a month on the road," requested Ned quietly, pitching his voice only to his friends' youngest brother.

Renly nodded. "Of course. I shall stall the council for a half hour or so. I know it is not much, but a quick dip or wash should be sufficient for now?"

Ned nodded.

The two men separated, Ned following a servant who directed him to the Tower of the Hand and his quarters. As he finished washing up, he mentally made a checklist of things he had to do -  _check on the girls and Bran; make sure the servants know where to go and what to do; make sure Jory knows he's the Captain of my guard while here; and_ then _deal with the small council_.

He sighed.

After checking in on the girls - who were in their own rooms but shared a sitting area, noticing they were both in separate corners from one another -, he moved on to Bran, who was sitting quietly in his room and reading. His youngest child and son looked up in curiosity as Ned looked in; Bran's gray eyes darted up to meet his.

"Is everything alright, Father?" he asked, tilting his head just so in curiosity. His eyes were as wide as they could be.

"Fine, Bran," replied Ned with a gentle smile. "I'll be back in a bit. Be good."

Bran rolled his eyes. "I'm  _always_  good."

Ned hummed his agreement and shut the door; then it was off to see Jory and ensure the household ran smoothly. It was a step up from his previous placement in Winterfell, where his uncle was the Master-of-Arms and someone else he leaned heavily on with Luwin, running the day-to-day operations.

Then, he was walking briskly towards the throne room for the small council chamber off to its side. Renly met him near the throne room, casually leaning against the wall with one ankle crossed over the other. It was an incredibly lazy and insolent position for the youngest Baratheon to display in King's Landing, one that made Ned's eyebrows shoot up. He had never seen him act such a way before - even Jaime Lannister in his most arrogant did not  _lounge_  against marble pillars just so!

"Since when did you start doing that?" was the first thing he asked when he was within earshot.

Renly's brow furrowed. "Hmm?"

Ned jerked his head at Renly's form, watching the young man place both feet down and then push off the wall.

"Oh? This?" Renly shrugged - another action that was unexpected. A tug at Ned's heart reminded him of someone else who shrugged when she didn't know something or didn't want to answer something fully.

"Yes,  _that_ ," agreed Ned, falling into step with Renly.

"I have a friend who leans against  _everything_ ," explained Renly with a smile.

Ned's tugging on his heart increased.  _A friend?_

Renly glanced over, saw his expression, and something shrewd fell over his face. "Yes,  _he_  would sprawl or lean against whatever he can, as insolently as possible. Ted's a good sort, though - he doesn't mean any disrespect by it. He just prefers to be comfortable. It drives Ser Loras and Ser Cuy  _mad_. It's brilliant."

 _It's brilliant_.

That was a phrase Ned hadn't heard in such a long time - but surely Renly couldn't know Hermione? Didn't he mention his friend was a 'he'? Ned shook his head. Hermione had been in his thoughts lately, and conversation had a funny way of bringing her up or reminding him of her. It was just ghosts from his past, that's all.

They entered the small council chambers, with Ned resolutely ignoring not only the Iron throne, the garish thing that it was, but also the two spots in the room where he was told his brother and father were killed.

Three men were in the room when he and Renly entered; all stood, except the eldest who struggled to get to his feet.

The first man to walk forward and greet Ned had yellow robes with long sleeves and a bald head. "Lord Stark."

Ned inclined his head. "Lord Varys."

The man in question bowed his head and said, "I was grievously sorry to hear of your troubles on the Kingsroad. We are all praying for Prince Joffrey's full recovery."

Annoyance crept up Ned's spine and his mouth moved before his brain had time to realize what he was saying. "A shame you didn't say a prayer for the butcher's son."

Varys blinked in surprise, and then something settled over his face. However, it was gone a moment later, his pleasant mask merely smoothing sliding into solemnity.

"My Lords - we have a kingdom to look after," said another man, one of the younger ones in the room of an age similar to Ned. He had a head full of dark hair - the kind that bordered between dark brown and black - and had gray-green eyes that slanted up at the ends.

Ned frowned.  _I've seen those eyes before. Where?_

The man continued, "I've hoped to meet you for some time, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me."

 _Oh. Yes._ You. Distaste filled Ned's mouth and he worked to keeping his expression chilly. "She has, Lord Baelish." He couldn't resist a tiny dig. "I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well."

A smile that didn't reach the man's eyes stretched across his thin lips. "All too well. I still carry a token of his esteem from navel to collarbone."

"Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel with," suggested Ned lightly. He did have  _some_ experience in courtly politics.

Everyone else in the room was watching the interaction with wide, keen eyes.

"It wasn't the man that I chose, my lord. It was Catelyn Tully," finished Baelish with a tiny smirk, as though he knew something that Ned didn't. "A woman worth fighting for, I'm sure you'll agree."

 _And that's enough there,_  thought Ned, turning his back on the man and facing the last man, who had finally risen to his feet, but was doing so slowly and struggling as he leaned heavily against the table.

"I humbly beg your pardon, my Lord Stark."

Ned inclined his head. "Grand Maester. How many years has it been?"

A few more words were spoken, and Ned took not only his pin to indicate his status of Hand of the King, but his seat as well. Robert's was conspicuously empty, as was the position for the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard - as Ser Barristan was guarding the King.

"-to stage a tournament in honor of Lord Stark's appointment as Hand of the King," explained Renly, lounging back and ignoring the glare that Pycelle sent him as he did so. Varys was watching him carefully, but he was looking that way at everyone so Ned took it that the others were used to Renly's new behaviour.

"Mm, how much?" Varys asked.

"Forty thousand gold dragons to the champion," answered Renly.

"Can the treasury bear such expense?" asked Ned in shock.

Baelish looked at his notes, sighed a tiny bit, and then said, "I'll have to borrow it. The Lannisters will accommodate, I expect."

Varys pursed his lips. "We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold."

The answering smile Baelish gave the small council and glib response had Ned sit up straight. "What's another eighty thousand?"

"Are you telling me the Crown is three million in debt?" sputtered Ned.

Baelish frowned at him. "I'm telling you the Crown is  _six million_  in debt."

 _By the Old Gods,_  thought Ned. Things were worse in the capital than he thought. While the others squabble about the money and where to get it, find it, and spend it, Ned sank back in his seat and steepled his fingers in front of his face. A part of him was listening to the conversation, but another part was lost in his thoughts.

He knew Robert was no deep thinker; the man had been all movement and anger even when they had been young. But - that he never took responsibility for the throne after his coronation bothered Ned. Jon Arryn had taught them both - and from such a young age, too! - so how did Ned take on the mantle of his family and responsibilities of Warden of the North, despite never being trained for it, while Robert - who was to be the Lord of Storm's End - failed in all sense?

"I'll speak to him tomorrow," announced Ned, breaking into the conversation. "This tournament is an extravagance we cannot afford."

He saw Pycelle cough, look away, and the end of an eye-roll from Baelish. No doubt, both were thinking of the North and the fact that they didn't host tournaments to showcase their abilities and skills.

"As you will," said Baelish with a tiny sigh and smirk. "But still, we'd best make our plans." He held his quill aloft.

Ned's jaw tightened and his voice grew frosty. "There will be no plans until I speak to Robert."

At the looks everyone sent him, including Renly, Ned swallowed his annoyance and reined back on his snappish tone. "Forgive me, my lords. I'm - I had a long ride."

Varys answered for everyone. "You  _are_  the King's Hand, Lord Stark. We serve at your pleasure. Shall we meet tomorrow, midday?"

At everyone's agreement, people began to stand and Varys and Baelish swept out of the room quickly, Pycelle moving slowly behind them but with a destination in mind. Renly, however, lingered.

"Ah, Ned, if I may-"

"What is it, Renly?" Ned was tired. He could feel an oncoming headache and he was barely in King's Landing for two hours.

Renly blinked. "I don't remember you being this… blunt… before, Lord Stark." There was something evaluating in Renly's face - one that was alien on Robert's.

"My apologies," said Ned, although it was stiff. "I'm afraid courtly pleasantries are something I will need to work on."

"To survive here?" said Renly, both eyebrows going up. "Absolutely. Listen, Ned, I'm sorry to bother you with this, but perhaps we could take a walk? I wanted to ask you something a bit - delicate - and as you know in the Red Keep -"

Ned nodded.  _There were spies everywhere_.

The two exchanged small talk as they wandered to a nearby courtyard off the throne room, and somehow, Renly segued the conversation into the past, a topic Ned generally avoided.

"-still remember when the Northern host crashed into the back of Mace Tyrell's army when they were besieging Storm's End," there was a slight tone of fond remembrance. "It was a glorious sight."

"You were barely four," commented Ned. "How could you remember that?"

"Some things you remember vividly," replied Renly, but there was something off in his voice. They fell silent for a moment.

"Besides," the man continued, his tone light, "We'd all been starving, and the provisions you and your men brought rejuvenated us all. The news - that the war was all but won - was even better. Rhaegar was dead, by my brother's hand, and you had marched on King's Landing and taken it. Robert was to be crowned King, and you were on your way south, looking for your sister."

Ned hummed.

"And then you returned," finished Renly quietly. "With you dead sister and a young babe no one was to see."

Uneasiness pricked at Ned.

"I think your sister would have hated being here," confessed Renly quietly. "As Robert's wife, I mean."

Ned looked at Renly in shock, his mouth dropping open a tiny bit.

Renly saw and sputtered out a laugh. "Oh, don't be so shocked, Lord Stark! I think we both know what my brother turned into." The smile on his face faded and Ned looked away.

"Anyway, what I was getting to, and wanted to ask," said Renly, turning back to Ned as they stopped walking in the middle of the path, with only a few gardeners around but not within earshot, "Was how old the babe is now? It was a boy, wasn't it?"

Ned nodded stiffly. "Jon. Jon Snow. He's six and teen now, just a bit younger than Robb, my eldest."

Something shrewd was on Renly's face again as he said, "Aye. Your  _eldest_. Hmm. Both six and ten, then?"

"Yes." Ned frowned. "Why?"

"Call it a curiosity," replied Renly lightly, a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Takes after you, does he? Jon, that is?"

Ned nodded slowly. "More than my other children, except perhaps my youngest daughter." he then frowned and added, "Or Bran. Bran looks more Tully or Flint, like my mother, than Stark."

"How interesting," commented Renly.

From corner a gate, further down the path, the sun glinted off the shiny armour of a figure who stepped into the garden. The curly blond hair was distinctive enough, but the engraved flower design on the armour proclaimed far more who the man was.

"Ah, excuse me, Ned," said Renly, his eyes locked on Ser Loras. They began walking again, towards the Knight of Flowers. "I believe I have a prior engagement." He turned to the older man with a smile. "You know, Ser Loras often tells me that he thinks his sister, Lady Margaery, looks like your late sister."

Ned raised a single eyebrow in response. "Oh?"

Renly grinned. "Well, I never said I thought it was a  _good_  likeness, did I? After all, my brother didn't even take a second look at her, so I doubt it. But family looks are something funny, aren't they?"

"I suppose," answered Ned, completely confused by the conversation. When they reached the longhaired knight, Ned nodded. "Ser Loras."

"Lord Stark," the other man replied, his eyes raking over the Warden of the North. It wasn't anything sexual - Ned wasn't blind or deaf up in the North toward the rumours around Renly; he just didn't care - but calculating. Then, Loras turned to Renly. "Did you forget we promised Ted to teach him to spar?"

"Not at all," replied Renly, his voice gentle. "I imagine that if the tournament goes through, he might even enter!"

"Has your friend fought before?" asked Ned politely.

Renly and Loras shared another amused glance. Ned was becoming irritated.

"Not at all," replied Loras finally, amusement on his face. "But watching him try to hold a lance is quite funny."

"If you excuse us, Lord Stark," said Renly, "And thank you for indulging me."

Ned inclined his head, and turned on his heel to retreat the same way he and Renly had come to the garden, to retrace his steps. Behind him, the two men were talking in soft tones; then, another voice broke into the conversation.

"Oi, mates," the young male exclaimed, in a horribly familiar way. "Are we doing this or not? Because I could  _seriously_  be practicing with a sword instead. A  _real_  sword. Like my Uncle Harry. Did I tell you about the time when he-"

"Yes, alright, Ted," broke in Renly, sounding like an indulgent parent.

 _Oi, mate_. Ned frowned.  _He was sure he had heard that phrase once before..._

He shook his head. No matter - he needed to find Robert and hear his excuse for a tournament. Renly and Loras' friend - and his rather uncouth manner of speech - was of no consequence to him.

Yet the uneasiness he felt during his conversation with Renly lingered.

* * *

Teddy's arms and thighs were in agony when he returned to the chambers he shared with Hermione later that evening. Renly and Loras had run him through the paces in not only swordplay, but horseback riding as well. All he was dreaming about now was a pain reliever potion and a warm bath.

As he stepped into the room, nodding at the Baratheon guard that Renly had assigned to them, Teddy immediately stopped. His magic was nudging him, telling him something was up.

He cautiously stepped into the sitting room, looking left and right and for something out of place. Everything was as he left it that morning: thick, heavy tomes on soul magic stacked by the fireplace, half empty mugs of tea scattered on flat surfaces, and even a throw tossed carelessly over one of the armchairs.

Teddy's bedroom door was shut; but Hermione's was open. He strode toward it, and then froze in the entrance.

"What are you doing?" his voice was shrill.

Hermione looked up from the trunk in front of her, removing clothing that Renly and Loras had paid for them, packing and rearranging her clothes into her beaded bag. In return, things from her beaded bag were floating out and rearranging themselves in the room elsewhere. Despite being bottomless, Hermione did not like clutter.

"Teddy," exclaimed Hermione, looking up and a bit startled. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, while we're stuck in this world, I live here," he replied caustically. "Aunt Hermione, what are you doing? Why are you packing? Where are we going?"

Hermione shook her head. " _We_  are not going anywhere, Teddy.  _I_  am going somewhere."

Teddy took a few panicked steps forward, arms outstretched as though to hold Hermione in place. "What? No! Aunt Hermione! You can't leave me behind here!"

"I'm not leaving you behind," replied Hermione, her voice even as she glanced up. "I'm going on a… research trip."

"A research trip?" echoed Teddy dubiously.

Hermione nodded. "Ted… Renly and Loras can't keep 'borrowing' books from Maester Pycelle. He'll get suspicious and there's barely any information on soul marks and curse marks for me to figure out how I'm connected to Ned - and if that made a difference with the necklace bringing us here. All  _we_  know about the necklace is that it belonged to the Targaryens, but they're all but gone from this world. What's left of them are two exiled royal members in the Free Cities and whatever secrets Valyria holds."

"I can go with you," said Teddy, eyes wide.

"I'll be gone for only a  _month_ , Teddy," answered Hermione. "And you've made friends here. We can always go and see the Free Cities again, after. But you should stay here. Aren't you enjoying yourself?"

Teddy frowned. Because she was right, he was enjoying himself. He walked over to her bed, sat on it, and crossed his arms.

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. "I'm sure Renly and Loras will keep you entertained and busy."

Teddy picked at a thread on his waistcoat. "Renly did mention something about a touney…"

Hermione grinned as she stopped packing and looked at him. "A tournament? How exciting. And didn't you tell me that you even mentioned the TriWizard Tournament to Harry when you saw him that morning?"

Teddy groaned, falling back onto the bed. "Yes, but-"

"Teddy," said Hermione, and her voice was soft as she moved over and sat on the bed near his head, reaching over to run her hands through his hair. "Far off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise, remember?"

"I never thought I'd be doing that alone," he muttered.

"You're not alone," answered Hermione, just as quietly. "I'm just a Patronus messenger away. And Renly and Loras will be with you, as well as the Baratheon guards."

"Your Ned is here," said Teddy, quietly.

"Is he?"

The deceptively light tone Hermione took didn't fool Teddy as he sat up, turning a bit to face her. "I know  _you_  know. Why don't you want to stay and face him?"

"I want answers first, Ted. You know that I prefer knowing everything I can first before jumping into a situation," said Hermione. She folded her hands in her lap. "Besides - he didn't come alone. He came with three children."

Teddy frowned. "Are you upset? That he moved on and was married and had kids?"

Hermione smiled, but it was brittle. "Curse marks, Teddy," she reminded him. "Curse marks. I would never hold that against him."

Teddy nodded, watching as Hermione went back to packing, but there was something off about the entire trip that Teddy was sure wasn't just about learning about Targaryens, or Valyria, or soul marks. Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor, brave, daring, and true of heart… but sometimes…

Just  _sometimes_ …

She ran from things, too.

* * *

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry in the delay. On the positive, I am almost (fully) recovered from the delay and remediation from my university strike that ended up with me teaching last years' course as we began this year at the same time as my college courses. Everything's been such a mess, on top of learning how to manage a household (dishes. Dinner. Lauindry!) that time for myself, including fanfic, took a backseat.
> 
> On the positive, things seem to be turning around. However, at the end of October I have my final comp exam for my dissertation, so I need to pass that to become a doctoral candidate and begin work on my dissertation. Wish me luck!
> 
> In the meantime, let me know what you thought of this chapter. Did you spot or have any inklings of what's been changed in this version of Westeros?


	5. FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recognizable dialogue from 1x04: "Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things" and 1x05: "The Wolf and the Lion," in this chapter.

FOUR

 

* * *

Hermione turned her back on the land growing smaller behind her only when she was no longer able to see the tall white tower that gleamed in the sunlight in Oldtown, serving as academy, tourist destination, and light tower. The Citadel was a fantastic feat of architectural engineering for Westeros, she could admit that, but the rampant misogyny of not allowing women inside had embittered her to the large town.

Loras had not been able to convince his brother Willas for a letter of introduction to Lord Hightower; by the stilted conversation that followed his stuttered explanation, there was something along the lines of his brothers not trusting Loras to make sound judgments. Hermione, for all that she knew of the young man in the past two months, could not necessarily find fault - after all, his and Renly's snap judgments on her and Teddy were not only wrong, but only benefitted them; they were, in all honesty, fleecing the two men with a barrel of lies.

Perhaps Willas and Garlan weren't too far off the mark about their youngest brother, then. Her lips twisted into a wry smile and she shook her head with a soft laugh.

For her, though, Loras and Renly reminded her too much of her younger days around Harry and Ron, and the shit that they all got up to between stopping Voldemort and the war. There was some eager brightness to their eyes, of wanting to make a mark and be brave and strong. She liked that. It was also probably, why Teddy got along so well with them, as well.

The journey from Oldtown to the Free Cities was not necessarily long - but it was tedious with day-in, day-out activities that the crew maintained. They had good weather and a few well-placed and inconspicuous spells ensured a strong tailwind. They reached Pentos ahead of schedule by an entire week, leaving a rather confounded captain to explain their early arrival to a dock manager.

"Will you be fine on your own, milady?" the captain asked her, turning from the dock manager as she stepped off the ramp to the wooden port.

Hermione nodded and smiled kindly, passing off to him another few silver coins from Renly's allowance. "My thanks for your hospitality and transport, Captain."

The man beamed back at her, and Hermione allowed herself to slip into the crowds. She had no worries of thieves with her magic sealing her money purse shut; further, her straightforward walk as she meandered through the tall, straight buildings of the port ensured no one bothered her.

She had to go east, toward the Sunrise Gate; from there, she would wait until dark and then Apparate in short bursts away from the travellers and roads until she reached Myr; a day to recuperate there, and then on to Volantis. A ship would have been faster, as Loras had suggested, but Hermione wanted a chance to see beyond Westeros as well.

 _Time to get going,_  she thought, sucked in a deep breath, and turned on her heel. A loud accompanying  _crack_  heralded her disappearance, and reappearance further along the flatlands behind Pentos; the city, of all, square buildings and flat roofs, surrounded by tiered gardens and high walls, was nothing more than the size of a child's dollhouse behind her.

Another crack and its brownish walls were a smudge on the horizon.

A few more, and Hermione was halfway south across Essos, skimming the edge of the shore with the scent of the ocean always on the wind, until she was across the flatlands and at dawn, she spotted the gleaming white spires of Myr.

Looking far more akin to the European castles and designs she was used to, Hermione took her time approaching the sprawling city on the Sea of Myrth, her feet finding a compact, stone road, smoothed down over years of feet and carts travelling it.

From a distance, Myr was a mishmash of towering spires and mini-castles, each one trying to outdo the other in extravagance, but the closer Hermione got to the town - including the thick, low-slung wall that surrounded it - she spotted things that made her nose twitch and mouth curl downward.

There were more people coming and going on the road now, and Hermione's keen eyes took in the bowed postures and collars around several of the men and women who followed behind well-dressed, dark-haired, and olive-skinned men and women in silks.

She entered the city along with a large cart of cotton and silk fabric, keeping her face averted from the guards at the gate, slipping in and behind three slaves. A Notice-Me-Not allowed her to avoid inspection, and a fee, until she merged with the crowds inside the walled city.

Hours later, she was checking in to an inn and enjoying a meal as she relaxed; she would be leaving the following night, giving her magic some time to recuperate. She slurped at the cold soup, letting its chill cool her from the inside, out; Myr was warm, far warmer than Pentos and the Free Cities in general were warmer than most of Westeros. If she was not a witch or couldn't apply Cooling charms, Hermione would've been sweltering in her cotton.

"-heard she was given to a  _khal_ ," a man said from the table beside Hermione. He was a scruffy-looking sort, with messy hair and a scar that ran across his cheek, but there was a hint of curious gossip in his voice as he leaned over the table to his companion.

That man, much older with unkempt hair nodded. "The  _First Daughter_  was in Pentos when the Khal arrived. Saw her with me own two eyes, I did."

"Was she as beautiful as they say? She's a Targaryen, ain't she?"

The other man nodded. "Young, though. Her brother's a piece of work. Kept goin' on and on about how he'd return to Westeros as King."

 _Oh?_  thought Hermione, twitching her head a little in their direction as she took another slurp.  _Who's this now?_

The first man laughed loudly, slapping a hand on the table. "The Beggar King himself? Ha! That'll never happen."

"He thinks it will with a Khal behind him." The first man snorted, and the unkempt one grinned. "Yeah, I know. Khal Drogo will never cross the ocean. No Khal has and no Khal ever will. The boy is deludin' himself."

"Still," the first man sighed. "What a shame for such a beauty to be married to the likes of a Khal."

The unkempt one clearly agreed, and they both raised their mugs in a toast. "To Daenerys Targaryen, the last Dragon Princess. Gone too soon."

They clinked the mugs together, sloshing their beer of some sort, and then both snickered into their drinks, gulping it down quickly.

Hermione leaned back as she finished her soup.  _Daenerys Targaryen. Are you related to Rhaegar by any chance? And a brother, as well. It seems like the Targaryens aren't all gone - these must be the ones Renly mentioned at dinner._

Without knowing more, Hermione shelved the living Targaryens from her mind behind a practiced Occlumency move, and retreated to her room. She was sure that the two exiled Targaryens were of little note, anyway.

* * *

Hermione smelled Valyria before she saw its ruins. She had re-evaluated her decision to go on foot by the time she reached the foot of a mountain range south of the Dothraki Sea, east of Volantis. She was limited to travel by sight with Apparation, and she had miscalculated, landing further north than she intended. In hindsight, that was good; the lands south of the mountains were barren, a mix of sand and dirt with skeleton trees and a long, wavering dragonsroad of smooth stone that wavered in the hazy heat.

Hermione backtracked to Volantis and chartered a small, one-man fishing boat, and soon sailed south, using her magic to give her speed and to avoid pirates that sailed the waters. That had been four days ago, and she had only seen sparkling blue water until they turned a murky grey. The air was hot and humid in Volantis and it did not change the further south she went on her boat; in fact, the humidity continued to build, never breaking.

Her hair was a right mess because of it.

"Ugh," she said, her nose wrinkling up as the scent of sulphur whisked across her face with the weak warm breeze. Along with the breeze came the slightest wisps of smoky cloud.

A bubblehead charm later and she was breathing easier; right on time. That cloud quickly turned into a thick, heavy, sulphur-scented fog that swallowed her boat; the sunny skies and blue waters of the ocean disappeared behind her.

Hermione cancelled her wind charm and slowed the boat to a crawl as she navigated the still waters. The fog had thinned a bit, and in doing so, she realized it was not a fog but rather -

"Merlin," she blinked, looking over the edge of her boat. The water bubbled. "It's  _steam_. The water is so hot, it's a bath!"

She drew back quickly and re-evaluated her decision to come to Valyria.  _Ted would've loved this,_  she thought, feeling homesick for the teen.

Slowly the steam retreated and soon was a heavy weight of humidity as Hermione found her boat being carried between two sharply rising inclines on either side of her, as the ocean narrowed into a steaming river; on either side, the inclines were covered with jungle and vines, dark and silent. A few ruins peeked out from where they were overtaken by nature, crumbled and dark, but caked with some crumbly white flakes.

It was like being in the Amazon, but without the hoots of howler monkeys or the throaty meows of jaguars or even the fear of large anacondas in the water. Instead, Hermione allowed the current to move her boat, and spent her time playing tourist to Valyria instead; confident in her bubblehead charm to protect her from the sulphuric fumes and anything else that might hover in the dank air.

Ahead, two large structures, half-crumbled, half-hollow, stood guard on either side of the mouth of the river. She passed between them and glanced up; there were gargoyles, shaped like sphinxes protruding forward, watchful of those who entered its once majestic city. One sphinx was missing its beak, and the other, both wings.

The sight made Hermione sad, for some reason.

The river narrowed as it began to wind through the remains of the city. There were tall, three-tiered arches that were reminiscent of Roman-designed aqueducts; but on a distant hill, overlooking the river was an open-roofed domed temple that was vaguely Indian in design. Another had a running roof around the square building, with a slight curve to the roof tiles - that was Asian. Hermione could see hints and pastiches of her world in the architecture, in the layout of the city, in the buildings.

 _This must be a clue. A hint - that somehow, somewhere, our worlds collided before,_  she thought, looking up, as her boat got closer to the aqueduct-that-wasn't-an-aqueduct. A tiny shift on one of the beams caught her attention and she tilted her chin, squinting her eyes.

Something beside it moved.

_People. How?_

Her boat slowed as moss and algae caught around it, just near the dark recess of what could have been a water gate; the square frame was tall, with a narrow ledge on either side. It was also a perfect place for an ambush.

Hermione stood on the boat as it rocked, and slipped her wand in her grasp. She slid one foot back, as she could balance herself, and then waited.

The attack came quickly. A man dropped heavily on to the boat in front of her as it continued to pass through the gate. It rocked violently, side to side, as the man rose. But he didn't rise to his full height - he was stooped, and very, very grey.

Her eyes narrowed.  _What is this? He looks like… like_ stone _._

A strangled noise emerged from his throat, and he began to claw his way toward her. Hermione negligently waved her wand and a blasting curse not only sent the man across the boat, but also blasted him apart.

She froze. The spell hadn't been  _that_  strong.

The sound the man made echoed around her, and Hermione's head shot up in response. Around her, blending in with the grey of the buildings, were other stone-like men - and women - all with stooped and hunched forms that jerked as they walked, or dragged, their feet. They were heavy, the noise of their movements making thumping sounds as they progressed.

"Ah, shit..."

She pointed her wand at the sail and let a blast of hot air erupt from it; her boat skittered and jumped in the water but then was pushing through the algae, cutting across the water and through the gate, emerging into a wide expanse of water surrounded on all sides by tall towers covered in vegetation.

From the buildings emerged more of the stone-like people, some even splashing into the water as they attempted to reach her boat.

 _Travelling to Valyria by land is becoming a much more palpable option,_  thought Hermione darkly. There was no exit from the inlet, and Hermione sighed, realizing she was going to have to Apparate out - but at a lower level than elsewhere, she needed height to visualize her next step.

 _Well,_  she decided, spotting the same aqueduct that she passed underneath.  _Why not use their terrain as well?_

The boat cut across the lake and for the time being, she was untouched; but the closer she came to the shore, the more the stone people were congregating, waiting for her with eager noises that were half-moans and half-shrieks. Some were even clamouring on top of the others to get closer, tumbling into the warm waters.

Pursing her lips in distaste, Hermione muttered, "Yeah. No. Fuck this," and turned on her heel. The  _crack_  her Apparation made from her annoyance at the situation wobbled her boat, rocking it violently. It also sent ripples across the water, and the shrieks from the stone people reached a new high as they reacted to the noise poorly.

Hermione, however, appeared on the highest ledge overlooking the ocean and inlet. Some rock crumbled underneath her, but a step back from the edge of the thick flooring secured her. From that height, she sucked in a deep breath of awe.

Despite the dangers below, the view of the remains of Valyria were breathtaking - and dangerous. The island she had somehow accidentally found herself on was the closest to Volantis; and there were three large landmasses ahead of her. The largest, caught between two, was the tallest with black mountain peaks. The tops of the mountains were a bright red, orange flickering along the skyline with thin trails of yellow and orange trickling down the black sides. In between the flickers of the lava, and the spewing of ash, there were the remains of buildings.

The closest island was larger than the one she was on, but not nearly as large as the one with the volcanoes; there was little vegetation as green as the one she was on currently, but what vegetation there was, was located along the shore. As the landscape rose, it too ended in a peak with a crumbled-in side; it was a collapsed mouth of a volcano. It took had remains poking through the vegetation at the bottom of the island, and some on the mountainside; but the question was which was Valyria?

"Point me Valyria," said Hermione, looking down at her wand, laying flat on her palm. It spun a tiny amount and then forward; at both islands. She sighed.

A gurgle beside her had her turn, a single eyebrow raised as one of the hulking stone people lurched forward, its eyes fixated on her.

"Do you mind?" she asked it, her tone similar to that of badgering Harry and Ron into homework sessions back during their Hogwarts days. "I'm trying to do some scholarly adventuring, here."

It screeched, and she used her non-wand hand to push at it with her magic, sending it staggering back a few steps until it teetered on the edge of the ledge. It tried to flail its heavy arms, but its weight sent it careening backwards and down, crashing through the trees below.

"This is becoming tedious," she said, looking over the edge where several other stone people were trying to climb. "Time to go."

Turning back to the nearest island, she mentally calculated the distance and focused on the clearest flat surface she could see: a long raised platform parallel to some acorn-shaped temples, all in grey crumbling stone. She turned on her heel and landed with a slight crouch on the other island, slightly dizzy.

She stood, she shouted, " _Homino Revealio_!" and waited as the spell washed over the nearby structures, waiting for it to light up with the stone people from the other island. A few second passed, and nothing blipped from her spell.

With a firm nod, Hermione lowered her arm and turned in the spot, surveyed the architecture and design of the Valyrian ruins.

 _I'm not necessarily_ in  _Valyria,_  she thought, frowning as she leaned forward to look at the nearest wall. The stone was crumbling, a dusty light grey overshot with white lichen holding pieces of stone together. Much of the design was worn away from hundreds of years of exposure to the elements without anyone to care for it, but there were still some reliefs underneath. Scraping at the lichen with her wand tip, and then vanishing it, Hermione slowly uncovered the relief.

A giant dragon, flying with wings outstretched, was carved into the stone. It was a simple banner, depicting dragons and their masters, in various everyday situations: feeding, cleaning, housing, flying. She was in the right spot, at least.

Other than the lichen and some dried vines, there was little vegetation at the height up the mountainside. Closer to the shore, there were more bushes and trees, but the further one went up - the more barren it became, leaving Hermione to speculate on the Doom and what caused it. She was sure she already had a good idea, but as she walked through the cool, dank air of the temple before her, her wand held aloft with a  _lumos_ , she held back on her initial thoughts.

The temple entrance opened up to a Romanesque courtyard, with two rows of columns framing the inside of the sunken courtyard. Large, flat stones created an even pathway and the pointed trims extended from the gate and the - Hermione was sure of it now, landing pad - on the mountainside. Behind each row of columns were entrances without doors (or, if there were doors, they'd had been blasted away, burnt, or disintegrated in the years since). Hermione picked a direction and made her away along the running path around the courtyard.

She stopped just by one dark corner, staring down at her first discovery.

It was little more than sludge, but the shape was undeniably human, a blob with limbs and a curled form, huddled against the inner wall of the courtyard.

Hermione knelt, her face going soft as she sighed. Had the Doom been any other natural disaster, she would be looking at skeletons or mummified remains - the remains before her were hardened and then worn down by weather; something that would only come from ash. Hermione rose to her feet and looked around the courtyard anew; if the Doom was precipitated by several volcanic eruptions - or even one large one - there would be evidence left behind beyond ash marks, buried buildings and people, and destroyed ruins.

Hermione took her time, working her way around the temple, through it, and beyond, coming out from the other side of the temple gate to a caldera. There was nothing left on the other side of the temple, protected only by being built into the mountainside. Any earthquakes or eruptions had destroyed most of the buildings and anything that had been built up the side of the mountain further had been destroyed during the eruption and subsequent creation of the caldera - the collapse of the mouth of the volcano.

The inside of the caldera was flattened, a mix between black and brown sand and glittering glass made from the high-pressure temperatures.

Hermione sighed.

There was one last place to look, as her gaze looked beyond the caldera and the water to the island across the way, the one with the still glowing mountaintops.

"Valyria," she murmured.

* * *

She could only do short bursts in Valyria; the high temperatures of still-active volcanoes and the intensity of the heat, as well as the constant rumbles of aftershocks from on-going earthquakes, as well as the plumes of ash that routinely puffed up and out from vents along the mountainside kept Hermione from doing an in-depth excavation.

Despite the aftershocks, many buildings and structures remained on the island, leading Hermione to think that it wasn't necessarily a massive earthquake/eruption in typical volcano form that caused the Doom, but rather the excessive ash plumes from the eruption and then the pyroclastic flow. Buildings  _were_  flattened and destroyed - Hermione could tell that much the closer she got to the volcano - but the Valyrian peninsula comprised of at least  _four_  large volcanoes - perhaps even the one on Valyria being a megavolcano.

In the two weeks, she had been popping to and fro the islands, setting up perimeters like during the war in case those stone people travelled from the first island to the second - Hermione had discovered shards of broken pottery, a few rusted and decayed swords, and a few pieces of jewelry. Much she kept tucked away in her beaded bag to bring back to King's Landing.

All pieces had something in common: a dragon motif of some sort.

Valyria itself didn't hold much in terms of remains, human or otherwise. The pyroclastic event would've killed anyone in its path instantaneously, but the resulting ash would have buried them and the aftershocks from  _that_  would have shattered and destroyed anything else, leaving anything to be discovered buried under meters of now solidified earth.

The further out Hermione got from the Valyrian city and mountainside, however, the more she found, especially as she returned to the second island. By now, she had decided that the city on the large island was the ruined city of Tyria was what she was exploring, on the northernmost tip of the Valyrian cities before the Lands of Long Summer. The city she was returning to, constantly, was a ruined one with no name on her maps (which she thought was odd; didn't Ned once say that the Doom was barely two-three hundred years prior? Surely, there was enough documentation left from when Valyria was a prosperous nation?).

The fallback of the ruined city with no name held far more items of interest and value from a scholarly perspective. Without proper equipment from her realm, though, Hermione could only speculate about the Doom overall despite the discoveries of pieces of Valyrian life. What she did learn, however, was frustratingly good and bad.

The good? She found three-headed dragon reliefs and jewelry in the ruined city. The reliefs were in a well-concealed building, built half into the mountain with closed off passages and rooms from collapsed ceilings and stone, but other parts - including an open-air inner courtyard, a bathhouse, the remains of a kitchen and a bedroom - were well preserved. In each of the rooms, were running frescoes along the top ceiling, like an ancient version of crown moulding. Per the room, there were different depictions; the bathroom was the most erotic and vivid, while the bedroom was sensuous and the kitchen, utilitarian.

However, in each, there were men and women and dragons - with three heads.

Initially, Hermione thought it was just a design thing - the Targaryen family (whom she was now beginning to think weren't  _that_  important given the size of the building and its distance from the center of Valyria) had a thing for three as some sort of metaphor or allegory.

Then, in the bedroom, she found something else that was the Bad.

Half buried, half crumbled, was a tableau of white marble, its writings etched in and smooth, worn in places. There was a three-headed dragon on it, at the bottom despite the top half being on partial, but the words were enough to make Hermione swear:

_-nd smoke, beneath a bleeding star_

_\- end the coming darkness shall be revealed_

_-hall be the Prince Who was Promised_

_-ne Dragon of Three Heads who will not yield_

_Against the foes of Ice and Snow_

Upon reading the tableau, she ended up tossing a water skin away against a nearby wall in a fit of anger, watching it splash and leave a watery streak as it fell to the floor.  _Why is it always prophecy? Why is it always something dark and terrible? Why can't it be about world peace?_

It was clear now that the Targaryen family worshipped the idea of the three-headed dragon because of some connection to a prophecy, but whether the current family members - or even Rhaegar - knew about it, was something Hermione was unsure about. However, it explained the three-headed dragon motif on their family sigil.

Three was a number of power - Hermione knew that from Ancient Runes at Hogwarts; and three appeared often elsewhere. There were three heads to the Runespoor, one the planner, the other the dreamer, and the last the critic; the dreamer fit with the concept of prophecy while the planner indicated forethought to avoid the Doom.

 _And a magical connection might explain how, through a rip of time and space during the Doom explosion, that the Selwyn's got hold of a Targaryen piece_ , thought Hermione darkly, with a scowl. However, the rumours of magic in Valyria made Hermione hesitant to wed herself to that theory fully. There was more to the connection than she knew, she was sure of it.

A few more days of digging through the Targaryen house left her with only remnants of a long-deceased family, bits and pieces of items of value and half-formed memories of what these people had been like. It wasn't enough, but now that she knew where to go (and what to avoid), Hermione could always return.

She had spent far too long traversing through the ruins of Valyria-weeks longer than she wanted and what she promised Teddy. Hermione finished her collection of goods and findings, carefully wrapping the bright golden sword with a Gryffindor lion head on the hilt; the necklaces of black obsidian and gold and silver in silk kerchiefs; and the other trinkets.

Biting her lip as she took one last look around the space, she had called 'home' for the past month. She was eager to return to King's Landing, discuss her findings (and not) with Renly, and perhaps Loras had managed to convince Garlan or Willas for a letter of introduction to Gerold Hightower? Her findings from Valyria surely could buy her passage and esteem into the Citadel.

And she missed Teddy, her almost-son for all that she raised him at Grimmauld Place when Harry and Ginny were busy with their careers and own children; her scholarly Hufflepuff who was her only connection to their home in this strange world.

She bit her lip as she twisted on her heel to Apparate north, deciding on a land route to return to Volantis to barter passage on a ship to Westeros.  _Surely, Teddy couldn't have gotten into too much trouble since I left?_

* * *

A month and a half into Hermione's departure from King's Landing - and already two weeks longer than she anticipated being gone - an excited Loras bounded up to both Renly and Teddy when the elder man was helping the wizard go through his sword forms in a private Baratheon courtyard near Renly's quarters.

"Have you heard?" asked the excited blond, his eyes lit up with a fierce joy as they moved from his lover to his friend.

Renly and Teddy were facing one another, with Renly watching Teddy go through a series of moves strung together. Teddy was reminded to Luke Skywalker's lightsabre training and it was the only thing keeping him cheerfully going despite the agonizing strain his over-abused arms were under.

Renly rolled his eyes, his back to Loras; only Teddy saw the move because he had stopped and was looking directly at his instructor. Renly in turn caught Teddy's eyes and winked.

"No, what news is this?" he asked, turning.

"The Small Council has agreed to host a tourney in Lord Stark's honour!" gushed Loras for a moment before he paused.

Teddy smothered a grin, but Renly did not.

Loras groaned.

"Forgot that I was part of the Small Council, did you?" he asked smugly, crossing his arms and peering down his nose at the Knight of Flowers.

Loras grumbled something under his breath, but Renly merely grinned.

"Are you going to enter?" asked Teddy, letting his arms fall and relax his hold on the hilt of the borrowed sword Loras found for him.

Loras nodded. "Of course!"

Renly shook his head. "Never."

Perplexed, Teddy looked between the two men. Loras was practically vibrating with the idea of the tournament - not that he was green at them, Teddy knew he had participated in smaller tournaments elsewhere and likely back in Highgarden - but Renly's face had gone pale. Loras noticed and decided to get him back for withholding that information from him.

" _This one_ ," he said, inclining his head towards the brunet, "Is afraid of blood."

Renly scowled. "I am not!" he protested loudly. "I am a man, and a Lord, and I can handle the sight of blood."

Even Teddy looked skeptically at Renly. "Yeah, okay, mate."

Renly's shoulders fell. "Is it that obvious?"

Sensing a change in the mood, both Loras and Teddy shared an uneasy look. Then, Loras took the sword from Teddy, hoisted it and leaned it against the nearby wall. Teddy, gratefully, shook out his arms and flexed his hand.

In the meantime, Renly had migrated to the short courtyard wall that ran the perimeter of the space, and had sat heavily down. The two other men sat on either side of him, Loras' eyes fixed firmly on his lover's face while Teddy frowned and looked between the two until Renly spoke; then, he kept his attention on the Prince.

"Robert thinks that anyone who hasn't been to war, isn't a man," he said quietly, staring off in the distance, which was the side of the building. "He treats me as if I'm a spoiled child."

Teddy's amber eyes skipped over to Loras, who was listening to Renly with a passive look on his face.  _Was this something that came up before?_  wondered the metamorphmagus.

Seeing that Loras wasn't going to speak, Teddy decided to prompt things along. "What do you mean?"

Renly sighed. "He never gives me any opportunities to prove myself. I am the youngest, and therefore the least knowledgeable about the world. Just because he's King, and I'm family, he's given me a position on the Small Council as Master of Laws - but I never did anything! I basically stamped approval for everything Jon Arryn put in front of me." A miserable look crossed his face and he hunched further. "I'm a patsy! A proper patsy!"

"Erm…"

"All I ever heard from Robert and Stannis is how I'm not tough enough; how I squirm at the sight of blood," finished a morose Renly, looking down at his hands now in his lap.

"You kind of do," inserted Loras, his tone dry. "I remember something about you, vomit, and an eyeball when you were at a mêlée at Highgarden…"

Just at the reminder of the memory, Renly went a nasty shade of green. There was some heat in his eyes as he directed the glare at his lover, who looked entirely nonplussed.

"His eye was dangling out of the damn socket!" the Prince protested.

Teddy grimaced. "Eugh."

Renly, vindicated, sat up and gestured at Teddy. "See?! See! It's not just me, Loras."

Loras didn't have the decency to hide his eye roll. "The boy shouldn't have entered the mêlée if he didn't know how to fight. It's quite simple."

"Harsh, mate," said Teddy, shaking his head. "How else is he supposed to get experience?"

Renly made a wordless gesture again, nodding his support to Teddy's statement while staring at Loras, daring him to argue.

"By practicing with his sword master?" suggested Loras lightly.

"And you say you're not spoiled!" scoffed Renly.

" _And_ ," added Teddy, "You're a gifted swordsman. Not everyone is that talented that things come naturally."

"It's not a gift," argued Loras, only slightly annoyed by his tone. It was clear this was an old argument to Teddy, and Loras was used to handling Renly's pouts. "No one gave me my ability to fight with a sword. I'm good because I worked at it every day of my life since I could hold a stick."

Teddy turned away from the two and sighed. "I could work at fighting all day, every day, and I'd still not be as good as you, Loras."

There was silence and, perturbed, Teddy looked back at the two only to see them quickly shift their eyes away from each other. he narrowed his own at them and asked, suspiciously, "Were you doing that silent conversation thing again?"

"What? No!"

"Not at all, Ted, whatever gave you that idea?"

Squinting his eyes smaller, Teddy imitated his Aunt Ginny's glare. It was a special glare, one that said  _I'm onto you_  to her children and made them cave every time they did something they knew they weren't supposed to. Teddy had learned it by necessity from being the eldest and babysitting duties, and knew it was highly effective. He even used it a few times at Hogwarts in his duties as prefect and Head Boy.

Renly broke first, squirming before blurting out, "Loras thinks you should enter the tourney!"

"What!" squawked the Tyrell. He swung his head to face Renly, annoyance now writ on his face. "No, I didn't!"

Renly nodded. "Yes - it's a good way for Ted to get experience. We can ensure he has what he needs and when to yield!"

"We  _literally_  just had a conversation about a boy who shouldn't have entered the mêlée," argued Loras. "Unless you want to see Teddy's eye dangling from his socket?"

 _I could probably pop it back in. I'm sure my mom's metamorphmagus skills allowed her to do some awesomely creepy stuff_ , thought Teddy, idly running over the idea of joining the tournament. It  _would_  help him get some coin of his own, so he wasn't still relying on Renly...

Despite being slightly green from the reminder, Renly retorted, "He needs some real-life experience!"  
"Why can't he fight your men?" argued back Loras.

"Ted should be seen! He's too good to be cooped up with just us."

 _Wait - what?_  Teddy voiced the thought aloud, echoed along with Loras' own incredulous query.

There was something shifty in Renly's eyes - but Teddy, being a new friend, was unable to recognize it for the scheming plotter that Loras saw, and the blond shook his head, warning in his own face. "Ren - this is a bad idea. Ted's too inexperienced with the joust-"

"-So he won't compete in that-"

"-And he is completely hopeless with a bow-"

"Hey!"

"-Yes, I agree, having the string snap back in his face _was_  unfortunate-"

"-So that is out-"

"Don't I get a say in this?"

" _No!"_  both voices snapped at him; Teddy scowled and sat back, arms crossed as he watched Renly and Loras focus on one another and organize Teddy's life.

"But he's not  _bad_  at the sword," finished Loras thoughtfully, his eyes turning back to Teddy. When Renly also turned to look, Teddy began to fidget nervously.

"Look - mates -" he began, edging along the wall, away from them. "I've had, like, three months' instruction in swordplay. At a push. I shouldn't be anywhere near a tournament."

Renly shook his head. "You pick things up quickly-"

"And you  _are_  strong-"

"You're intelligent-"

"Resourceful in dodging and avoidance tactics-"

"Listen to instruction well-"

"Tenacious! And dedicated. I've seen you practicing first thing in the morning-"

Teddy's head bounced back and forth between the two as Renly's worries of manliness and proper Westerosi custom disappeared from his mind, but Teddy was also sure that the diversion of  _him_  participating in the tournament was skillfully planned.

"I'd really rather not," said Teddy, eventually, primly. He even added an affected sniff he'd seen some purebloods do in the Wizengamot when dealing with someone or a vote they disagreed with.

"I think it would be good for you," said Renly.

Loras, nodding slowly, added, "And we can show you how to gracefully yield without a loss of honour. Especially for your first event."

Teddy stared at them, a rising feeling of annoyance merged with resignation settling in the pit of his stomach. "I can't get out of this, can I?"

Loras shook his head, but Renly was slightly sheepish as he admitted, "I already added your name to the mêlée when we finalized the details for the tournament last week."

Both Loras and Teddy wore matching looks when they stared at Renly in response.

Weakly, the man grinned, "Surprise?"

* * *

 _If I survive this, I am going to kill Renly myself. And they'll never find me, because I won't even_ look _like me,_  viciously thought Teddy as he gasped and wove under the swing of a sword from a man in shining armour with a shield that had a bridged tower on it.

Dropping to his knee, Teddy swung his own sword up and clashed it hard against the other man's. The steel caught and sparked, the vibration running down Teddy's arm. He grit his teeth and used his innate magical abilities to strength the muscle in his arm, almost hardening it to stone in response.

Initially, the mêlée, held on the second afternoon of the tournament, was meant to get the blood pumping and the event started; the archery tournament in the morning was tame to the mess that the mêlée quickly became. The joust had already begun, concurrent to the mêlée and archery competition, as they weeded out early participants and gave them an afternoon's break before the semi-finals.

There were forty participants in the mêlée; none of whom Teddy knew  _at all_ , despite Loras muttering advice to him as he and Renly, in Renly's tent, striped Ted to his underwear and then layered him with thick cotton padding and his armour, one piece at a time.

At first, Teddy asked if he was supposed to enter the tournament as he was; no armour, just him. Renly laughed and Loras looked horrified, forcing Renly to admit that he had stolen some of Teddy's clothes and had an armourer from the Street of Steel forge him custom armour.

The only thing missing was his sigil.

"What do you want?" Renly had asked, and at first, Teddy's first reaction was to blurt out "wolf!" after his father's werewolf form. He had even started the syllable - "wol" coming out - but he quickly clamped his mouth shut; only, not before he saw a knowing gleam enter Renly's eyes.

Any other symbol near or dear to him wouldn't work either; a Gryffindor lion was too Lannister; a badger was too close to the hedge hogs of Blount; a stag, like Harry's father, was too Baratheon; spiders, dogs, ravens, even a centaur were all used, leaving Teddy completely flummoxed at what he could lay claim to as his.

Loras had completed missed Renly's gleam, and asked about Hermione instead, in her soul mark or the Granger last name. In truth, Teddy knew nothing about his Aunt Hermione's family - other than they remained in Australia and had no memory of their daughter thanks to her actions in saving them during the war - so he couldn't even answer.

But her mark? He knew it. "A pile of books with two wa- _batons_  crossing in an 'x' underneath."

Therefore, Renly had the image sketched out and presented it to the armourer, and now the books and wands combination blazed across his chest plate. The amount of armour the two men had put on Teddy was staggering - and looking around at his competitors, it was excessive.

 _Probably their way of protecting me_ , he thought wryly, disengaging his sword with the other knight, swinging back quickly - almost  _too_  quickly - given the heftiness of his armour, to slam the flat of the sword against the man's unprotected side, where his armour (two plates front and back) were tied with ribbon and hemp. Howling, the man went down, most likely suffering some severe bruising.

Feeling horrible, Teddy shouted, "Sorry!" and turned away, his eyes darting across the sand to his next opponent, if only so he could either end up on his back, yielding, or until he was utterly done.

Unlike most of the other competitors, who were sweating under the afternoon sun, Teddy was cool thanks to several cooling charms applied to his armour; he had snuck in to the tent earlier before Renly and Loras, layering cooling charms, strengthening charms, and then lightening the weight of the armour. It did give him a highly unfair advantage, able to move and twist in ways he normally would not be able to with the armour, but given that most of those in the mêlée were far superior swordsmen to him, he considered it even.

He still felt bad when he knocked someone down, though. That was the Hufflepuff in him, he supposed. But then again, Renly  _did_  advise him to be polite…

("Whatever you do, when it happens, bow out gracefully," he said. "It is a mark of honour and lordliness."

Loras snorted. "And don't draw attention to yourself."

Renly frowned, just as Teddy asked, "why not?"

"The better you are, the more flamboyant you are, the more someone will want to knock you down. Just get a taste of this," said Loras, ignoring Renly's scowl. "No one will think any less of you for stepping out of the fight when you can.")

So, here he was, two hours and forty minutes into the ridiculous event. Most competitors had been knocked out within the first thirty minutes; from that, until the second hour, were furious mini battles as the numbers dwindled. Now, Teddy was surprised to see that there were barely six people left in the ring.

Teddy was the furthest away, at the other end of the designated mêlée ground. There was a man in bright red robes with a flaming sword; a large, older man with white and gleaming bronze armour; a few Weasley-looking men (not to be confused with his adopted cousins, the Weasleys) with straw-coloured hair and long faces, their sigils matching the one with the man he had just defeated; and Teddy himself.

There was a moment of breathless anticipation as the crowd around them held their breath to see what would happen next. From where Teddy stood, he saw the tall man in bronze armour look his way, then at the man with the flaming sword. When he glanced back at Teddy, he inclined his head toward the other men. The invitation was clear,  _shall we?_

With a roar, the man with the flaming sword bounded forward and crashed into the nearest of the long-faced men, the man in bronze armour behind him.

 _I see that the enemy of my enemy is currently my friend before they beat the shit out of me_ , thought the young wizard wryly.  _Oh well. Let's go_.

Teddy ran across the sand, coming up from behind the three from the same family; before, they had grouped together to fight off the other two, leaving their back open to Teddy, thinking him no threat. Instead, Teddy took the opening they provided and swiped his sword at the knees of the largest of the three men, sending him sprawling in surprise, getting a mouthful of sand.

"Yurk!"

The bronze-armoured man brought his sword down, hard, across that man's back. The downed man collapsed, wheezing, his arms, and legs, akimbo as he groaned.

"Hosteen!" one of the other men, a tall but slightly stooped, cried. He was bald, having tossed his helm away some time ago. There was an arrogant sneer on his face as he turned to Teddy. "Why, you little upstart-"

Of course, in his arrogance, he left  _his_  back undefended, and the bronze-armoured man neatly knocked him unconscious with a tap of his hilt on the back of the man's head.

At the other side, the remaining man from the family stepped back from his fight with the flaming sword, sweat beading around his hairline and the neck of his armour. He shallowly bowed and said, loudly, "I yield!"

The flaming sword man paused, the sword held high as its eerie green light flickered, but he nodded once and let the sword drop.

And then there were three.

Teddy eyed the other two men, just as they eyed him back. He knew they would go after him next - he was the smallest opponent now on the field, and the reasons they had gone after the family must have been personal, in some way - so he swallowed thickly and slowly shifted back, ready to brace himself and his sword.

"What's your name, Ser?" the bronze-armoured man's question boomed across the field.

"Teddy," the wizard replied, glancing between him and the flaming sword. The other man was wide and round with a shaved head; he looked the most like a wizard that Teddy had seen in Westeros, with his red robes and fire flickering safely along his sword. "Who're you?"

The man who spoke to him first grinned widely. "I am Lord Yohn Royce! And this is Thoros of Myr. Is this your first tournament, Ser Teddy?"

"Just - Just Teddy, please," he muttered, and then nodded, once, sharply.

Royce's grin widened. "And what a story you will have to tell!" then, he went comically sombre. "But we have to defeat you now."

"I kind of figured that was coming," sighed Teddy, bringing his sword up - and not a moment too soon, as both Thoros of Myr and Yohn Royce were swinging at him.

It was all Teddy could do to keep up; his eyes flickered back between the two men as they pressed forward, their swords flying together to get on either side of Teddy instead of in an off movement, giving him time to swing back and forth in defense.

He was being pushed back, further and further across the sand. His arms ached, and he was so overwhelmed he couldn't think of alter parts of his body - then Royce was able to hit Teddy across the chest with the flat of his sword -  _at least they're being nice,_  he thought momentarily - just as Thoros swung his flaming blade towards Teddy.

Without thinking, Teddy dropped his sword from his hand and brought his hand up to catch Thoros'.

The crowd gasped-

Royce shouted something-

Thoros blinked in surprise-

And Teddy stared at his bloody hand - hardened with his metamorphmagus abilities - clutching the blade, the flames warmly licking him but not burning.

"Oh, hells," he breathed, just in time to see Royce's fist swing and hit him on the side of the face, knocking him to the ground.

When he came to, Thoros finished the fight with Royce with a flourished twist of his sword, sending the other man's blade crashing heavily too far away for a quick retrieval. Teddy slowly stumbled to his feet, his bloodied hand coming up to pressed against the pounding on the side of his head.

Touching the lump, he hissed.

Around him, the spectators erupted into cheers and cries, even some whistles, but above them all, he heard someone boom, "BRING THEM TO ME - ALL THREE!"

Someone wrapped a large hand around his upper arm and hauled Teddy forward. Dizzily, he looked up, and up, and saw Royce look down at him. The man had a cut across his forward, his nose was crooked, and when he grinned down at Teddy, blood coated his teeth.

Involuntarily, Teddy found himself grinning back, despite the wooziness he felt.  _Man, if only Uncle Harry saw me now! He'd totally think I'm a hero. I bet_ he _never did what I did._

Teddy tilted his head down to concentrate putting one foot in front of another, allowing Royce to pull him along until they were standing in the center of the mêlée ring. Teddy could make out the raised platform where the King, Queen, and other Lords and Ladies were sitting. There were a few unfurled banners lined up, with a giant Baratheon banner in the middle with the crowned stag. The Lannister lion was level, indicating the marriage of Cersei into the royal line; but around them in other places of honour were other family sigils. Teddy only recognized the black wolf on grey background, directly before him and to the right of the King's seat.

Royce sank to his knee, dragging Teddy down quickly. He stumbled, slamming his hand out in front of him to keep upright and not embarrass himself in front of the royal entourage.

"Rise!" the same booming voice commanded, and Royce yanked Teddy up as he stood. The crowd was cheering again, and Teddy struggled to focused.

 _Am I concussed?_  he wondered idly, blinking as he turned to partially face Royce, only to squint at the glare of the late afternoon sun reflecting off his bronze armour. He winced against the glint and the noise of the crowd assaulting his eardrums.

"Now that's a bloody good show!" the man was crying in glee. "What I wouldn't give to be part of that mêlée! Ha!" there was a sound as he slapped his hand against something. "I'd have given you lot a right challenge!"

"I'd still welcome that opportunity, one day, Your Grace!" Thoros of Myr cheerfully said from Royce's other side.

The same voice - the King's, Teddy now knew - loudly laughed.

"Now then," the King said, his voice going a bit softer. In response, the cheering crowd died down and Teddy managed to swallow and slowly look up.

The King was… fat. That was the only way to describe him, and Teddy could barely see any resemblance between him and Renly other than their dark brown hair and maybe the shape of their faces - a bit square and round. The King wore fine clothes in brown and yellow, with a scraggly beard and ruddy cheeks and nose from the wine he was drinking. The cup sloshed a bit as he set it down on the arm of his chair, just as he struggled to rise a bit.

Next to him, remaining in her chair was a beautiful blonde who could only be the Queen. Loyally, Teddy thought both Fleur and Victorie were much prettier, even without their inherent Veela abilities, but he could see why men would appreciate Cersei; but her scowl and cold green eyes put him off.

To the King's right, Teddy spotted Renly. The young Prince's eyes were wide and his face a bit pale, but once he caught Teddy's eyes he almost sagged in relief. Loras stood behind him, and leaned the barest into the back of his chair, his thigh brushing the other man's shoulder in support. In response, Teddy felt his heart beat faster and he smothered a grin. They had been worried about him!

Near Renly was a solemn-looking man, whose black hair, like Teddy's, turned a lighter shade of brown in the light. He had narrow grey eyes and fine clothing. The grey and black colours, and his position dead center for the Stark banner, proclaimed him as Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.  _This_  man was soul mates to his Aunt Hermione.

On either side of the Warden of the North were two girls. The youngest had dark brown hair, a long face and was practically bouncing in her seat as she looked from one mêlée contestant to the next. The other girl, however, with long red hair and a nice blue-grey dress, was staring at Teddy. Her blue eyes were wide and her cheeks flushed, and the popular teenager from Hogwarts recognized the star struck look in her eyes.

 _This can't be good,_  he thought, chewing on his bottom lip worriedly.

"Now," the King was saying. "The winner of this mêlée, and of twenty-thousand dragons, is Thoros of Myr!"

The crowd screamed their pleasure, and the red-robed man turned, waved genially to everyone, before turning back and bowing to the King. He stepped forward to claim his prize, handed to him in a large brown pouch by the Princess with curly blond hair, who had received it from a steward at the King's side.

"Normally I don't award anything to the runner ups," the King was saying, eyeing Royce and Teddy each, "Because you either win, or lose, when you're in a fight for your life.  _But_  - both of you fought bravely. While I won't award you coins, I think we deserve to know the names of the men who could challenge Thoros - and catch his blade!"

Royce bowed first, gallantly. As he rose, he said, "Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone of the Vale, Your Majesties."

There were catcalls and cheers from the crowd, and Teddy could tell the man was a fan favourite. Eventually, those died down and the King nodded, congratulating the older man for his excellent work and swordplay.

Then, he turned a curious eye at Teddy. "So. You're rather young to be participating, aren't you? Skinny thing, you are."

Teddy laughed nervously. "Erm, yes, Your Grace."

"Well then, boy!" he boomed, peering down at him from his raised position on the stand. "What's your name? What house are you from? And step forward so I can see that sigil clearer on your chest!"

"Erm, Robert-" interrupted Renly nervously, "Surely you can tell he needs a Maester? The poor lad is barely standing."

Robert turned an incredulous look on his younger brother. "Eh? Is he one of yours?"

The crowd jeered and Renly flushed, but he said, "He's a friend, Robert, and I don't think his father would take kindly-"

"Oh, piss it!" the King waved away Renly's worries. "He's not the first boy who disobeyed his father to get a taste of adventure or to wet his blade!" He turned back to Teddy, barely patient in waiting for his answer.

Teddy swallowed, glancing at Renly who, resignedly, nodded. Then, the young wizard stepped forward, closer and closer to the stand until he was close enough to make out Ned Stark's expressions. At first, there was boredom, but some curiosity; then, confusion as his eyes dipped down to take in Teddy's feature.

Then, his eyes rested on the chest etching. And he stilled.

"I'm - ah - my name is Teddy," stuttered Teddy, blinking as he turned back to the King, whose on face was rapidly shifting from inpatient to frustration. "Edward! Everyone calls me Teddy though. Ah, that is - I'm Edward Granger!"

Ned's eyes shot from staring at Teddy's chest to his face in disbelief.

"Granger? I've never heard of that House before," said the King, staring down at Teddy stonily. "What are your parents' names?"

At the King's side, Teddy saw Renly frantically shake his head, once; then, Petyr Baelish, whom Teddy had the misfortune of meeting only once before with Renly, and in passing, glanced back at Renly who quickly schooled his face and sat back in his seat. Baelish frowned, deeply, and then looked back at Teddy with renewed interest.

Teddy felt his lips tighten as he thinned them.

"Your parents' names, boy?" the King demanded, a hint of ire in his tone.

"Hermione Granger, Your Majesty," said Teddy in a tiny voice.

The King froze. " _Hermione_ , you say?" and then he was slowly turning to Ned, looking at him. For his part, Ned Stark had not moved upon hearing Teddy's "last name," other than to look completely shocked. The King - despite having no desire to run a kingdom - was not stupid. "Hermione" was not a common Westerosi name.

The man's beady eyes swung back from his best friend to the young man who entered the mêlée, now revealed as Eddard Stark's bastard with his soul mate.

"By the Gods," the king breathed, newly taking in the black curly hair, the teen's lanky height, the long Northern face, and his bright amber eyes - which widened considerably when he saw the King look back at him.

"I -" The King stopped, opened his mouth to try again, but then failed. A few in the crowd murmured, and even Cersei turned to look at him in surprise. But, for the first time in a long time, Robert Baratheon was at a loss for words.

* * *

Teddy's chest was heaving the moment the King distractedly dismissed him, Royce, and Thoros of Myr from the mêlée ring, having raced the entire way back to Renly's tent, dodging Lords and Ladies and squires and common folk alike.

Things were still vaguely blurry from his concussion, and until he was back in his shared rooms with Hermione and access to her potions trunk, he was stuck doing things the Muggle way. He didn't want to accidentally splinch himself trying to Apparate!

 _Please let me make it back before anyone else,_  he thought, heart pounding in his throat.

The universe was not listening to him. The tall redhead in the blue dress who sat next to Ned Stark was loitering by his tent, with an older woman in a colourful nun's outfit.

"Oh!" she said as he turned the corner, halting abruptly at the sight of her. She then smiled prettily at him and her cheeks flushed a light pink. "Hello!"

Teddy stared, taking a slow step forward. "Hello…"

"You fought bravely, Ser Edward," the girl was saying, taking a step closer to him. Teddy froze. She was nearly as tall as he was - maybe a few inches shorter - and could have easily passed for his cousin Lily's twin. "Was that your first tournament?"

Teddy, unsure of how to answer, felt his tongue twist and thicken. He didn't even want to  _talk_  to anyone other than Renly and Loras, to find out if it was better if he disappeared to Storm's End or Highgarden until Hermione came back - he didn't want to cause trouble with the Starks, and now one was in front of him!

"Sansa!"

Both turned, and Teddy inaudibly sighed.  _Another Stark_! he groused as Ned himself strode forward, his pace quick. Behind him, the young girl kept pace, with a mousy-looking boy just a bit younger than her. They all shared some common features, and Teddy could only reason they were all siblings.

"Father," greeted Sansa, although there was something a bit sour in her tone at his interruption.

But Ned did not reply; instead, he stared at Teddy, who found himself looking back.  _This_  was his Aunt's soul mate; a part of him wanted to catalogue every detail to recount to her for later, especially if she was still hiding from him when she returned from Valyria.

"You're…" Ned trailed off, his voice soft. There was something wondrous in his expression as he took his fill of Teddy, from the top of his curly head to his scuffed leather boots. But there was something sad, too. He took a moment to collect himself and then asked, "Hermione - is she-?"

Teddy nodded, once, quickly. "Here." Then he winced as Ned's eyes widened and something light appeared in them. "Ish. Kind of? I mean, she's  _here_. In Westeros. But not  _here_  in King's Landing?"

Ned frowned.

"She went on a trip!" Teddy found himself blurting, wanting to tell the man everything; if there was anyone in Westeros who would know the truth about him, and his Aunt Hermione, then it could be Ned. Because he knew, just as well as Hermione and Teddy knew, that Teddy wasn't his son.

"A trip?" the man echoed.

"Father? Do you know Ser Edward?" asked the young boy with them, staring between the two.

"I want to see your sword! Can you show me your sword?" the younger girl demanded just as Sansa harshly shushed her.

"Erm," began Teddy, glancing around at them all before settling back for Ned. "To Valyria. There was a - how we got here wasn't normal…" he winced.

But Ned nodded. "By your standards?"

 _Ah. You know about magic then. Good_. "Yes," agreed Teddy. "And she thought Valyria would give us some answers."

"Valyria?" the youngest children breathed simultaneously in wonder, their eyes growing wide.

"Yeah," said Teddy, turning to face them. "We are a bit… adventurous; I suppose you could say, by your standards. Anyway - what are your names?"

"I'm Arya!" the boisterous and demanding girl answered. "This is Bran."

"I can introduce myself!" the boy scowled.

It seems that Sansa was the only one following the conversation though, and asked the question Bran had earlier that Teddy neatly sidestepped. "Father, how do you know Ser Edward, then? Or his mother?"

"That's what I'd like to know," a cool, feminine voice agreed.

Teddy nearly groaned.

While they had been talking, King Robert, his wife, their children, and even Renly and Loras, along with the King's kingsguard, had approached from around the dirt path and from between two tents, neatly penning Teddy and the Starks in.

Loras sent Teddy an apologetic look, while shooting a minor glare at Renly who merely shrugged, as if to say,  _I tried_.

Teddy glanced at Ned, who frowned back at him. Teddy could see the gears ticking away in his head; what was he supposed to answer? "Teddy's mother is my soul mate"? "And, oh yes, they're from another world"? Teddy snorted,  _that would go over well._

The two remained silent. Teddy was unsure of what to reveal, and Ned was unsure of how he felt and what he  _wanted_  to reveal. Hermione had always been an intensely private thing for him, and he disliked the idea of shouting out that she was his soul mate.

"Well, no need to be shy!" Robert said jovially, slapping Ned on the back so hard he nearly stumbled forward. The man in question shot the King a bewildered look. "It's probably the first time you've seen the lad!" the king turned to him. "And how old are you, Edward Granger?"

"I prefer Teddy, if you don't mind, Your Majesty?" replied Teddy with a squeak of nerves at the end of his voice. "And seventeen - er, seven and ten."

The King nodded, a knowing glint in his eye at the way Teddy preferred his name -  _probably thinking "like father, like son," if my guess is right,_  the wizard thought sourly - and then he laughed, loudly. "Oldest of the lot, Ned! And look at that - entering tourneys already! I'd say he's even better than you were at that age!"

There was a comically confused look on the Queen's face that slowly morphed into horror - and then swiftly was replaced with a devious gaze as she sized up Teddy anew. The adults around them seemed to have come to the same conclusion from the King's words and both Teddy and Ned's refusal to deny it - but the Stark children, and youngest Princess and Prince, were confused.

"But… what? What does that mean?" asked Arya in a loud whisper to Sansa.

"It  _means_ ," began the tall blond, a sneer on his lips, "That  _Edward Granger_  is Lord Stark's bastard."

Inwardly cringing, Ned found himself clearing his throat. "Ah - Sansa, Arya, Bran? This is… this is Teddy. Your… your half-brother. Like Jon."

Three shocked faces stared up at Teddy, who flushed in mortification. Sansa's flirtatious smiles had dried up into pure horror. Then Arya made it worse: "Why isn't your last name Snow, then?"

Teddy nervously began to wring his hands together, twisting the fabric of the bottom of his shirt, peeking out from underneath his armour. "Oh. So. You see - er - that is - where I'm from - no, that's not right, because it's not always like that - but, well - you can take the last name of anyone - oh, that's not right, that's not accurate at all - what I mean is-"

"As Teddy did not grow up in Westeros, he took his mother's last name," answered Ned, stiffly - and a little pityingly, as he glanced at Teddy, who nodded quickly.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's it," the teen replied hoarsely.

"Well, Teddy Granger," said the King suddenly, glancing between him and Ned, "Welcome to Westeros. Now, did I hear this right? Your mother isn't here?"

Teddy shook his head, eyes darting at Ned and then, landing on Renly. Clearing his throat, Renly stepped forward and smoothly interjected, "Robert, Ned; Ser Loras and I, along with Ser Cuy and other Baratheon men, came across young Ted when he was in the middle of a fight with some common folk a few months back. Lady Granger was with him, and when I realized that she knew Lord Stark, I invited them both to return to the Red Keep and stay with me in the Baratheon rooms until they were able to acquaint themselves with Lord Stark."

Teddy found himself nodding. "What he said." Then, realizing that was probably too glib for royalty, hastily added, "And she's in Valyria!"

Even the Queen looked surprised by that. "Valyria? Whatever for? Why would anyone want to go to that wasteland?"

"She found a Targaryen necklace," answered Teddy, scuffing the toe of his boot in the dirt as he did so. "We showed it to Lord Renly for his thoughts, but he couldn't answer with certainty if it was from a cadet Targaryen branch or not. So she thought to go looking for answers."

"But in  _Valyria?_ " asked a surprised Robert.

Teddy shrugged.

"Well," the King huffed. "There's no point in staying with Renly anymore now that you know your father is here-"

"Robert,  _surely_  it is hardly proper for a bastard to live with his true-born siblings?" broke in Cersei, with a tense face but sugared tone. Her hands were folded at her front, the long sleeves of her dress trailing on the ground and making a V-shape; Teddy thought she looked remarkably poised in that position.

"Silence, woman!" groaned Robert, glaring at her.

She glared back.

"This is  _Ned_ ," the King continued, as if that explained everything. "No more discussions! This is  _my_  decision and it's final!" and, turning to face those around him, he gave everyone else a beady glare, which made everyone around his bow or curtsey, with several murmured "Your Grace's" thrown in.

Sansa, who had been silent to this point, had been keenly watching Teddy. The wizard hoped she wasn't still regarding him with a crush; that was a bit too Pureblood for him. Instead, she tilted her head to the side like a bird, and chirped, "Your hair is really curly."

Confused, Teddy replied, "Thanks?"

"It's just like Jon's."

 _That_  stirred something as Ned took a few hasty steps forward, blocking Sansa's view of Jon, and moving her toward the nun-dressed woman, muttering something about lessons.

Robert of course, could hardly let that slide, and looked at Teddy  _again_ , and then began laughing. "Ned! Ned, you sly wolf!" He laughed harder.

Ned's face tinged a bit red, whether from embarrassment or frustration, Teddy couldn't tell, but it was enough that the other two Stark children, Arya and Bran, began peppering Teddy with questions that he couldn't possibly answer - and further, how could he? He didn't know who Jon was, or what his relation to the others were!

"Oh, gods," muttered one of the guards, a tall blond that had a similar look to the Queen, staring hard at Teddy.

"What?" the teen asked, looking around at the adults.

"Nothing, it's nothing," muttered Ned, looking anywhere but the King or Teddy.

With a final chuckle, Robert nodded at Ned, muttered his name with a wicked grin, and then strode off with his children and his guard in tow. Cersei looked like she wanted to stab him in the back as she glared at the King's disappearing figure until he turned between two flapping tent entrances. She then turned to Ned and his children, raised her eyebrows, and left.

A strange air and tense silence remained.

Teddy glanced around, feeling rather helpless as the rest of his time in King's Landing was decided for him. Ned looked particularly miserable, but quickly schooled his features blank when he felt Teddy's eyes on him.

 _That's a rather good exploding cards face,_  the teen thought in admiration.  _Ned would've made a good Slytherin!_

"Well, then, erm… Teddy," began Ned, stiffly. He looked around at his children - and one fake - and nearly sighed.  _The things I do…_  "We'd best get you set up in the Tower of the Hand."

Renly and Loras, who had remained silent towards the end, finally spoke up as Renly stepped forward. "I'll have someone collect your things from your rooms, Teddy."

The teen frantically shook his head. "No - Au - Hermione wouldn't like it someone was touching her things. I can do it, it's fine."

Ned glanced at him, probably saw his wide-eyes and heard the tinge of panic in his voice, and felt pity. "Of course. Take your time, Teddy."

Teddy sighed in relief. "Thank you."

Ned turned back to Loras and Renly. "Should I send someone to wait until he's ready or…?"

"I'll bring him by," promised Renly, a strained, but true, smile on his face. "I'll need to say goodbye now - I won't be used to having Teddy and Hermione so close by for conversation!"

" _Mmm_ ," replied Ned. He turned back to his children. "Well then, let's go. Back to your rooms; don't you have some lessons to complete with Septa Mordane, now that all the excitement is over?"

Arya immediately began complaining, talking loudly about the tournament; at either side, Bran and Sansa wore deep scowls as she spoke over them. The woman dressed as a nun, began to sprout idioms as words of wisdom that Sansa drank in, nodding along in agreement with her.

"See you later, Teddy!" shouted Arya, turning around and still walking backwards as she frantically waved.

Teddy's hand weakly rose in the air in response to his goodbye.

Then there were three of them left, and Teddy felt like he could let out the explosive exhale without censure.  _"Holy shit,"_  he gasped.

Loras sidled up to his side and peered down at him. "Are you well, Teddy?"

Teddy looked down and realized his hands were shaking. "Um. No? What just happened?"

Renly's mouth flattened as he stared off in the distance between all the tourney tents, and said, "It seems my brother has decided to publicly out you and your relationship with his eldest friend." He sighed heavily and his face was sorrowful as he looked at the young man. "I'm sorry, Teddy."

"Not your fault," the wizard muttered as he braced his hands on his thighs as he leaned over. "What does it mean for me?"

Above his head, Loras and Renly shared a look. "You'll have to come to court," began Renly slowly. "Robert will likely acknowledge you in some fashion."

"There will be… balls. Girls," said Loras, haltingly. "You'll need lessons."

"In  _what_?" demanded Teddy, finally straightening. "I literally  _just_  finished my schooling before coming here! This was supposed to be a gap year vacation before I chose my career path!"

Renly brightened. "Well, at least your lessons can be conducted with us! So we won't never see you again!" He began listing all the things he felt Teddy would need to know: "Comportment; the Great Houses, their histories and lineages, the history of Westeros; how to dance; proper addresses of titles; continue your swordsmanship lessons…"

As Teddy's face morphed into horror, Loras reached over and patted his shoulder in commiseration. "Welcome to life at court, Teddy Granger."

* * *

Maester Luwin had seen many things in his time at Winterfell; as essentially Lord Stark's right-hand-man in the castle. As the one who collected and sent ravens, he was also privy to reading them, in order to establish which were important enough to deliver for immediate response and others, which could wait.

The one he had in his hand, from Lord Stark himself,  _could not wait_.

On the other hand, he hesitated.

Because the information in it was so completely alien, unlike Lord Stark, that Luwin couldn't fathom what possessed the man to write the letter. But -

Luwin paused.  _But_. There had been some… strange… gossip and rumours floating up from servants and tradesmen alike, whispers of a woman in King's Landing - new, beautiful - spending her time with Prince Renly. With a teenage son. Who looked  _very_  Northern.

Better yet? The rumours said  _she knew Lord Stark._

The older man hesitated only a moment longer, but then realized he could not delay. If rumours were starting to make their way North, to them in Winterfell, it would only be a matter of time before it became loud enough that those within the castle would hear; whether from overhearing gossip, or, more likely, from the Greyjoy's mouth.

Luwin found Robb, acting Lord of Winterfell, with Theon Greyjoy and Jon Snow at the breakfast table. Catelyn was also there, sipping on her drink while she went through some ledgers for the larder.

 _At least everyone is here,_  thought Luwin, although it was with a winch.

Robb noticed him first and smiled. "Ah, Luwin! What's that there?"

"A message from your father, my Lord," he said, swallowing and then handing it over. "I ah - I suggest you read it in its entirely first before out loud."

Confused, Robb nodded his understanding while both Greyjoy and Jon stopped eating (and glaring at one another), to watch Robb. Greyjoy was intrigued at the contents; Jon could see the shock appear on Robb's face and dreaded the news.

First, Robb was confused; it was a regular letter from his father. But then, as he continued to read, he felt confusion, surprise, and then complete bafflement. Surely, this was some jest? When he finished reading, Robb's voice was hard when he asked, "Is this true? My father is not under duress writing this? Have there been such rumours to confirm?"

Luwin nodded slowly and silently.

Robb stared. At his feet, Grey Wind looked up, ears perked forward.

"What is it, Robb?" asked Greyjoy, leaning forward, his voice eager. "Is there to be war?"

"Theon!" scolded Lady Catelyn, glancing up from her work. "What an awful thing to wish for." But then she, too, looked at Robb carefully and asked, "Robb?"

Caught between Theon's eager eyes and his mother's wary ones, he turned to his half-brother and began reading the letter, pretending he was merely addressing it to him instead.

" _'To my family_ ,'" began Robb, quietly, "' _I hope this letter finds you well and all in good health and spirits. We are quite busy here in King's Landing - the girls and Bran continue their education with Septa Mordane, and Sansa is often asked to join the Princess Myrcella in her lessons. They are close becoming friends despite the age difference._

"' _Recently, the Small Council decided upon the funds that the King asked them for; they have hosted a tournament in my name. Of course, my dear family, you know that is the last thing I want anyone to do. However, the tournament has proved… interesting. The first day was the archery competition, and there were some surprises there, but nothing too shocking. Even the preliminary joust matches were as expected - Winterfell fared well, but Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Barristan Selmy managed to dominant the lists. They are moving forward to the semi-finals, along with Prince Renly's friend, Ser Loras Tyrell of Highgarden._

"' _It was the afternoon mêlée tournament that has changed everything. The entire event lasted just over three hours in the afternoon heat. I pitied the knights in their armour, most of them expiring early from heat exhaustion and ferocious immediate attacks instead of taking their time. However, there were some surprises. Thoros of Myr, a Red Priest, had a flaming sword and this, on the back of his horse until later in the mêlée, thinned the ranks quickly. Bronze Royce - Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone that is - also a seasoned veteran, who did well as he too disposed of participants._

"' _It was the young man who came in third, by a stroke of luck of teaming up with the Bronze Royce and Thoros of Myr, that has caught the court's attention. After finishing an attack against a group of Freys, Thoros and Royce went to attack him. He held himself well, although it is clear he has had very little swordplay instruction. When the two had exhausted and pushed the young man to the edge of his capabilities, he shocked us all._ _ **He caught Thoros' sword with his hand**_ _. It was quite the spectacle and it endeared the King to him immediately, charmed by the bravery - and stupidity - of the move._

"' _He quickly was disarmed and knocked unconscious, but as the last three, the King decided to honour Royce and the young man by proclaiming their names to the crowd instead of just focusing on Thoros of Myr as the mêlée champion._

"' _And this, my dearest, my family; is where things changed. The young man had a strange sigil on his chest. He looked familiar, like a ghost from my past. When he spoke, it confirmed everything. His name is Edward Granger - although he prefers Teddy - and he is seven and ten. He and his mother are recently arrived in Westeros._

"' _What is important about this is that his mother is Hermione Granger - a close friend of mine from my youth. The King took one look at Teddy and myself and knew; and now I shall write it and admit it here for you: Teddy Granger is my son. I once swore to you, Catelyn, that Jon was the only other child of Stark blood. At the time, that was true; I had no knowledge of Teddy until this afternoon when I first laid eyes on him._

"' _The King especially finds this charming - another Stark in the capitol - so Teddy has been moved into the Tower of the Hand. Eventually, when Hermione returns from her trip to Valyria, she will be informed of the move and I will endeavour to find somewhere comfortable for her to be near her son,'_ " Robb cleared his throat and said, his voice shaking a bit. " _'And please inform Jon that I will need to set aside time to have that talk with him sooner than I had expected. Sansa, Arya, Bran say hello. Yours -'"_

There was a moment of silence, and then Robb was bombarded by three different voices, all shouting on top of one another.

"Another Stark? Your father isn't nearly as honourable as he claims, eh? Ha!"

"My  _mother?_  She's  _here_? And travelling?  _In Valyria?!_ "

"WHO? WHERE IS SHE? THAT WRETCHED MAN-"

"Stark honour! What a thing that's gone to the shitter-"

" _I have a brother?_ "

Robb focused on Jon's face. There was stunned amazement breaking through, his grey eyes wide with shock but slowly, a smile was beginning to spread, even if he failed to realize it. Robb could understand why; although Jon was a Stark, like them, he felt different enough due to his looks of being tall, dark-haired, and grey-eyed like their father. Catelyn's attitude toward him never helped either, alienating him from Sansa and Bran, and much of the staff in Winterfell. It was a careful reminder that his place in Winterfell was tenuous at best, and that Robb and the rest of his siblings, were merely  _half-_ siblings to him.

But now? With his mother named and with the knowledge of another child? This one from the same mother and father? This was a full sibling that Jon could lay claim to; and more, he could potentially shed the "Snow" last name and take on "Granger," as this Teddy had done.

A part of Robb was horrendously jealous at the look on Jon's face but his shame was greater and he smothered it quickly. Jon deserved to know his mother and brother without interference from him, and he would wish him well if he wanted to travel to King's Landing and find his family. He'd even give him the fastest horse, coin, and a travel guard!

The more he thought about it, the more eager Robb was to meet Teddy, as well. A young man with little to no training in swordplay took place in a royal mêlée with some of the best swordsmen out there, and came in  _third_?  _He must be something else,_  thought Robb with admiration.

Ignoring the noise around him other than Jon's glowing face, he failed to notice his mother's face turn red, the colour clashing terribly with her dark red hair. The woman's hands trembled, and she excused herself quickly from the table; Luwin watched her go with a growing sense of unease.

It was no secret that the Lord and Lady of Winterfell were estranged and had little love for one another, but the idea of another woman who was with the Warden of the North  _before_  her, and who sired a son that was at least a year and a half older than their eldest in Robb, would be terrifying. Hermione Granger had the potential to make Catelyn Stark's life very difficult.

 _But on the other hand,_  thought Luwin,  _Catelyn could do the same…_

This bore watching.

* * *

Elsewhere, the evening after he sent the raven to his family, Ned Stark sat in the darkened solar in the Tower of the Hand, cradling his bowed head as he gripped his hair in tight fists.

His shoulders were tense and his body trembled, unsure of what emotion he was trying to repress.

But inwardly, his thoughts were riotous:

 _What is another lie, another promise?_ he wondered.  _I know Teddy isn't mine, but he's Hermione's and she's not here, so someone needs to protect and take care of him. She's dear to me, and so is Teddy by extension._

 _Of course, Robert knows that she's my soul mate, but to assume that she - that we - that Teddy is_ ours _\- I know that's not true. But I look at him and see her and then I see what the others see and I can't help wondering…_

He inhaled sharply.  _But, Gods. Gods, forgive me. What am I doing? What's another lie cozying up to another? Where has my honour gone and worse… how far am I willing to let my honour and convictions go, if it means protecting Hermione and Teddy?_

* * *

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for patiently waiting for this one; if you follow my other stories, you'll have heard good and bad news (good – passed my comps exams, almost ABD and ready to write my dissertation!; the bad – I electrocuted myself and nearly died). I also was severely backlogged in marking for my college classes, so I am almost caught up but of course, RL work takes precedence to fanfic.
> 
> To clarify a few things:  
> 1) you are correct, there is NO Rickon in this universe.  
> 2) The Stark children all have their direwolves, although Sansa, Arya, and Bran kept theirs in Winterfell.  
> 3) Yes, Ned was VERY surprised to return from the Greyjoy Rebellion with Theon to learn that Catelyn was pregnant and gave birth to Bran.
> 
> (Timeline: Rebellion was 7 years after Robert took control of Westeros; Jon was 8.5, Robb was 8, Sansa 5, Arya 3.) Ned implied in earlier chapters that he refused to bed Catelyn after having 2 daughters; initially, Edmure and Hoster encouraged more marital relations to secure the Stark name by having more sons, but with two girls following, Ned gave up. By this time, his relationship with Catelyn was also completely devoid of love and affection.
> 
> Next to update is Winter Witch! Keep an eye out for it.


	6. FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recognizable dialogue from 1x05, "The Wolf and the Lion" in this chapter. Kudos to those who might recognize any bastardized (ha) Hamilton lyrics.

FIVE

 

* * *

 

With a huff, Catelyn opened the door to her bedchambers and solar, slamming it behind her once she was in. She didn't dare cast a glance at the adjoining door that led to the Lord's chambers; she hadn't slept in there for years and spent much of her time instead in her own space or the Sept Ned had built for her in the early days of their marriage, when things were still new, rose-tinted.

 _How dare he?_  she fumed, pacing aggressively across a Myrish carpet her father and brother had splurged on, for her thirtieth birthday.  _How dare that man - that - that Northerner! How dare he admit to not only_ another _bastard, but allow that woman to remain near him?_

Bitterness crept up from her stomach, clenching her heart. It was a familiar feeling, one that grew steadily a bit more each day. She had hoped to find love and happiness with Brandon (she ignored a voice in her mind that whispered  _but you heard the rumours - Barbrey Dustin, Ashara Dayne, others_ ), knowing that he'd be hers and hers alone once they were married.

When he died ( _murdered_ ), she turned her attention to Eddard Stark, like the good, dutiful woman she was. She had been raised to be a Lady, the Lady of a household, and her father had promised her since she was old enough to understand that she would be the wife of a Great House. There had been a brief moment when she thought that wouldn't happen - when Brandon died - but Eddard stepped up.

She was under no illusions that he loved her; she and Brandon had spent what amounted to less than ten supervised visits together since their betrothal when she was thirteen, with him visiting Riverrun including that terrible event with Petyr. She had never even  _met_  Eddard Stark before their wedding, and certainly hadn't had any form of correspondence with him in the ways she had with his brother. At least Brandon was familiar - Eddard Stark was a stranger. But relationships - and love, trust - had been built on less.

So, she had done what her family words were: Family, Duty, Honour. She began a family with Ned - gifting him Robb, his firstborn - and did her duty by remaining at his side, his dutiful wife when he brought  _that boy_  home from the war. He dishonoured her, her reputation, their reputations through the shame he brought to Winterfell and then  _continued to shame her_  by keeping the boy close.

Catelyn hated Jon Snow.

Oh, she wasn't blind to her hate and her reasons; she was taught bastards were lustful, dangerous creatures who only wanted to usurp their trueborn siblings' positions in the household and she was sure Jon Snow would do so eventually, too.

So, she begged, pleaded, cried, threw things, did anything and everything possible to get Ned to send the boy away - to any of his Lord's houses, to the Vale, to Dorne - anywhere that wasn't Winterfell. Each time she did so, the Lord of Winterfell grew colder, harsher, and dismissed her out of hand with a tried, strained, "No," or "Jon is of my blood and he will remain here with his family."

She hated what he represented - that there was another woman out there that Ned Stark preferred and that he wasn't as honourable as her father had said he was ("He'll be a good match, Cat, I promise. You'll still be the Lady of a Great House; I have never heard anything bad said about Eddard Stark, not once!"). That woman was the one he ran to when he went off to war, leaving her wedded, bedded, and pregnant with his heir and yet he returned with  _her_  child. He sought comfort in another's arms, without even attempting to try with her.

But to know now that Jon was kept as a reminder of the woman that Catelyn replaced in Ned's mind for the Lady of Winterfell? Because he was their son? It was like Catelyn herself and her children meant  _nothing_  to the man - that they were placeholders for someone else, someone potentially  _better_.

Someone he picked.

Catelyn disliked the idea of not being someone's choice. She enjoyed the flattery of men fighting over her hand - Brandon and Petyr demonstrated that. She enjoyed the flowery songs and the drama of jousts and tournaments, things that were rare creatures in the North.

Sansa was so very like her, her Southron daughter; but Catelyn's heart would break every time he saw Ned look at their redheaded daughter in confusion, as he wasn't quite sure how such a thing came from him with her enjoyment of knights, tournaments, songs, and dances. Arya was more to what he expected of a Northern girl - bold, brash, dirty, wild. Lyanna, reborn.

With a frustrated shriek that barely escaped her tight, flat lips, Catelyn picked up a nearby jewelry box and flung it at the far wall, where it broke upon impact. Wood shards flew everywhere, the noise clattering around the room.

Breathing heavily, Catelyn stood still and until her tense shoulders loosened.

"My Lady?"

Turning a wary eye to the door, Catelyn drew her Tully poise and her position of Lady of Winterfell around her like a cloak and tilted her chin up as she addressed the Maester of Winterfell. "Yes, Luwin?"

"A raven for you," the man said, inching into the room and very carefully not looking in the direction of the shattered jewelry box, or the scattered bits of rings, necklaces, and bracelets - tokens from her Tully relatives in the South, as the North had little to no need for baubles. "From your sister, in the Eyrie."

 _Yes, I know where she is,_  thought Catelyn caustically, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes at the addition Luwin gave.  _I have only one sister; it's not likely I'll forget who she was married off to like I was - a bargaining piece for soldiers._

"Thank you," she said primly instead, taking the letter from the man's hand. When he didn't move, she asked, "Yes, Luwin? Is there anything else?"

"Should I send someone to clean up, Lady Stark?"

The man's voice was devoid of emotion.

Catelyn repressed a twitch and turned so her back was presented to the man. "That won't be necessary, Maester. That'll be all - goodbye."

There was a shuffle and the man left, gently closing her bedroom door behind her. Catelyn expelled the breath she held in, eagerly ripped the seal of her sister's letter, and began to read, her brows furrowing as she did so.

Written in their unique shorthand and secret language, Catelyn's eyes grew wide and she quickly dashed to her fireplace once she memorized it, tossing the letter in and watching it burn until there was nothing left but ashes.

 _My God,_  she thought, her hands shaking.  _If this is true - then the King - all of Westeros is in danger! - And Ned is down there…_

Biting her lip, Catelyn's thought turned inward before she made a decision with a decisive nod; in a flurry, she grabbed a small bag and began stuffing a few pieces of clothing and essentially, including her allowance pouch, into it, securing things and then going to find someone she could count on for help.

On the way, she bumped into her eldest son and the Greyjoy heir returning from a sparring session, based on their flushed cheeks and sweat-dampened shirts.

"Mother!" cried Robb, upon seeing her. His smile quickly faded away. "What is it? What's going on?"

Catelyn sighed. "Robb. I must go - there is no time to lose-"

"Go where?"

"Robb, I can't explain-"

"Mother," said Robb, his voice stern and hard. "I am the Stark in Winterfell and before you go anywhere, please tell me what ails you. Besides, I'd hardly let you leave without an escort somewhere! It's not safe!"

"Fine," said Catelyn, her voice indicating that she felt severely annoyed at Robb pulling rank. "I received a raven from your Aunt Lysa in the Vale - she revealed that she fled from King's Landing upon her husband's death because the Lannisters killed him and she feared for not only her life but that of her son's. Furthermore, she said that she uncovered a plot to kill the King."

Robb and Theon's eyes were wide, and Theon's mouth had unhinged to drop open in shock.

"You see? I  _must_  go to King's Landing," said Catelyn, a touch impatiently. She began to push past the two young men, striding forward and into the inner courtyard, on her way to the stables.

"Mother - please, wait - Mother!" called Robb after her, catching other's attention as he followed on her heels. "You can't go alone!"

"I won't go alone," she called over her shoulder.

"Good," she heard Robb reply, and then him call, "Ser Rodrik! Can you accompany my mother to King's Landing? It's of vital importance."

"Of course, Lord Robb," the elderly man replied, and Catelyn turned to see the Master-of-Arms come up from a bow. She bit her lip and nearly sighed in annoyance at the idea of a Northern man accompanying her - especially one that was through-and-through her husband's man.

"Will you meet with father, Mother?" asked Robb, his Tully blue eyes looking up at her earnestly as she stood beside her horse and a stable boy helped her mount. Catelyn mentally sighed.

"In secret, darling," she replied, reaching out to cup her son's cheek. "I must warn him of the dangers to his friend. It's the right thing to do."

He was a splitting image of her or her brother - Tully red hair and blue eyes, not a drop of Northern blood in him despite the strong jaw, the blunt chin, and the curly hair that was all Ned Stark.

 _If only you were more like me,_  she thought, as she saw her son grin and stand tall.  _It may be the right thing to warn him of treason against the crown - but make no mistake. When I go to King's Landing, I'll be there to find my competition._

 _And when I'm there,_  she finished, riding out of Winterfell's gates with Ser Rodrik Cassel at her side, a tall, large imposing figure to her lithe one,  _I'm going to make sure that she and her bastards won't ever get near me or mine, ever again. No matter what it takes._

* * *

The room that Teddy was moved into was very different to the one Renly had given him and Hermione. Renly's apartments were decorated richly, with tapestries, plush furniture, an ever-ready supply for food and drink. Ned Stark's apartments were a bit bland in response: bare minimum furniture - although still high quality but wooden and stiff -, curtains to block out the light, and maybe a writing desk. No frills, no excess.

Teddy didn't mind; while Renly's apartments reminded him of the Hufflepuff common room, affectionately called "the den" by its house members, the Tower of the Hand felt more like what Teddy knew Ravenclaw and Slytherin to be like: functional, still posh, but less homey.

As it was, Ned quietly knocked on the frame of the door, not stepping in as Teddy turned from his place by the window, looking out at the different view from his previous room.

"Is this acceptable?" the older man asked.

Teddy's smile was a bit strained, but he nodded. "It's more than enough, thank you."

"I know it's very different to what you're used to-"

"Renly's apartments might have been brighter-"

Ned shook his head. "No - I meant where you live with Hermione. Back - back  _there_. I'd only… visited a few times, and I remember how different things were to Westeros."

Teddy blinked. "Oh." He reached up and scratched the side of his cheek, where the barest whisper of fuzz was starting to grow - if he allowed it. He had quickly realized that being clean-shaven in King's Landing was like a flashing neon light over his head.

Clearing his throat, Ned stepped a bit more into the room, warily, if Teddy was reading his posture correctly. The young Hufflepuff alum furrowed his brows in response.  _What do you have to be worried about?_

"How long has Hermione been gone?" he asked, stiffly, looking anywhere but at Teddy. "You said she went to Valyria?"

Teddy nodded slowly. "Yeah. And about two months, now. But that's okay - she's usually gone on some research trip like that back home, too. Says she'll be gone a month or two, and then the next thing you know, it's Christmas and she shows up thinking it's October."

Ned blinked in response. "I… see." He cleared his throat and shifted his weight, making Teddy narrow his eyes.

"Is this a problem?" the younger man asked, carefully. "Because I  _am_  an adult, you know - I can take care of myself. I don't want to burden you-"

"You're not a burden!" interrupted Ned, a vaguely horrified look overtaking his face before it shifted back into something he had control over. He took a deep breath. "What has anyone told you of Valyria?"

"Er," began Teddy. "That it's - that it's where the Targaryens came from? Something about dragons and an explosion called the Doom? Hermione complained that there wasn't any documentation and she said that was weird because the Doom happened, like, barely two hundred years ago, and she said people  _should_  have knowledge about Valyria from before that - so why don't they, Ned? That's so weird, anyway, and-"

"Teddy."

The wizard took a deep breath and let it out. "Sorry. I was rambling."

There was a fond look on Ned's face now. "Hermione did much the same when she was younger. I don't expect you to be any different." Then, his face morphed to a somber countenance. "Unfortunately, the Doom did worse to Valyria, Teddy. The entire area was flooded and the air toxic. No one who went to Valyria has ever returned. Your stating that Hermione went - especially in front of the King and Queen - has them thinking you are as good as an orphan."

Teddy's eyes went wide. "Is that-? Is that why they moved me here? Instead of where I was before?" His voice rose into a squeak. "They think Hermione isn't coming back? That she abandoned me?"

Ned grimaced and stepped forward. "No! Not at all. I think we both know that she's more than capable. But-" he looked away, and then back. "Until she returns, I would - that is, it would be nice if you stayed with us here, in the Tower of the Hand."

"Is that your way of saying you want to keep an eye on me?" asked a suspicious Teddy with narrowed eyes.

The older man blinked back steadily.

Teddy's eyes narrowed a bit more in response.

"Would - Would you care to meet the household?" asked Ned after several moments of silence. There was something odd about his tone, but Teddy dismissed it - it was understandable that the two would be awkward around each other.

Nodding, Teddy moved away from the window and toward his fake-father, gracefully accepting the conversation topic change. "That would be nice."

Ned's lips twitched into a small smile, and turned, beckoning Teddy to follow with an unsaid command. Teddy tugged on his shirt - another transfigured flannel into the tunic-like pieces Renly and Loras favoured - and strode after Ned until he caught up to him and walked at his side.

"You will be meeting with my children," began Ned, glancing at the gangly teen that actually beat him in height by a few inches. "And then the household staff and servants. These will be people who you can trust entirely during your stay here - I trust them with my life and my children, and so can you."

Teddy nodded his understanding, and they turned from the hallway where his room was - tucked away at the end of the Tower and a few flights down from the rest of the family - to begin up the stairs. Waiting for them at the base of the stairs was a man with a long face and equally long, stringy black hair that fell to his shoulders. Despite the solemn look, the man bowed his head when they approached, and said in a genial tone, "My lord," before turning curious eyes on Teddy.

"Jory," began Ned, "This is -" the man grimaced for a moment before collecting himself, something anyone would miss unless they were looking at the Stark directly "-Teddy Granger."

Jory quirked an eyebrow at the surname but knew better than to say anything.

Ned continued, "Jory is the Captain of the Stark guard here in King's Landing. All security measures go through him."

Teddy mentally translated:  _Not quite Head Auror, but high-ranking enough because he's not a foot Auror. Got it._

"If there is anything you require, Granger, you can let me know," said Jory, revealing a nasally, but kind, voice. "I can direct a servant to you, or point you in the direction necessary for you to acquire it yourself."  
"Thanks," said Teddy. The man's no-nonsense attitude was refreshing after some of the shrewd cloak-and-dagger looks he'd been receiving lately from others, particularly when he was meeting Renly and Loras. "And just Teddy is fine if you don't mind."

Jory blinked but nodded slowly. "Of course."

Ned, watching them, spoke up. "Are the children in the solar, Jory?"

"Yes, my lord," the man replied, his voice turning a bit soberer as he involuntarily straightened and turned to face the Lord of Winterfell.

"Then we'll go there next," the Lord decided, and the three of them began up the stairs, Ned first; Teddy second, and Jory bringing up the rear. Teddy could feel Jory's curiosity, but he also knew that the man wouldn't ask anything of him while within Ned Stark's earshot - if at all. Teddy repressed a sigh;  _to be fair, if I were in the same position and someone appeared from nowhere and claimed to be Uncle Harry's kid from another woman, I'd be curious about them, too_.

The solar was a large, circular shaped room at the top of the Tower, with high ceilings and windows on most sides that offered a nearly 360-degree view of King's Landing - when not blocked by other towers attached to the fortress-castle. The room had a large hearth that took up nearly an entire wall with two thin slit-like windows on either side of it; there were several chaise loungers around the fireplace, including single armchairs and a rocker.

Three of those were occupied by the redhead - Sansa - and the nun-like woman who had been with her when they confronted Teddy at the end of the melee a week ago. The last was occupied by a miserable looking, scruffy black-haired girl, slouched on her seat and picking at her needlework.

The youngest boy of the group ( _Bran,_   _I think his name was Bran?_  thought Teddy), was reading a book and taking diligent notes on a slate by the long table in the middle of the room.

Everyone looked up when they entered.

"Father!" the youngest children cried; the boy looked up from his work with a smile, and the girl threw her needlework to an empty hair and launched herself forward to fling her arms around Ned's middle.

"Arya!" scolded the nun-like woman. Teddy's mouth turned down and he felt a flicker of annoyance at the interference. Why shouldn't the young girl greet her father? Why was she even doing needlework when it was apparent she hated it? Surely, there was something else she could spend her time on instead?

"Children," said Ned, his voice low but loud enough to be commanding. The redhead gently placed her work in her lap and folded her hands as she looked up at her father. The other two did so as well, all ready to hang on the man's words.

Ned gestured toward Teddy, who stepped forward. Jory remained at the door, guarding it from the inside, with his eyes averted from the family scene in front of him.

"You met him before, but for Septa Mordane's sake, this is Teddy Granger," said Ned, and Teddy waved at the three.

"Hi," he said, fighting the urge to fidget. His voice cracked a bit in nervousness.

"Teddy, in case you missed it before," began Ned, who then began to indicate to each of his children, "This is Sansa, my eldest daughter; Arya, my youngest; and Bran, who is my youngest son. Septa Mordane is the girls' instructor, and without Maester Luwin here to continue Bran's education, she has taken over some of his schoolwork."

The children murmured back shy hellos, but there were matching looks of curiosity in Bran and Arya's eyes while Sansa deftly avoided looking at him, a blush staining her cheeks red.

"Is Teddy joining us for supper tonight, father?" asked Bran, from where he sat at the table.

Ned glanced at Teddy.

"Sure, if you want me to join you," he said, looking around. "Otherwise I usually join Ren -  _Lord_  Renly and Ser Loras. Or visit the kitchens and get something there myself."

Arya's eyes went wide. "You've been to the kitchens?" she asked breathlessly. "Me too - I mean -" she glanced quickly at Septa Mordane, who narrowed her eyes, and then her father, ducking her head.

"If you have time to go a-wandering, young lady," began Septa Mordane, ire in her voice, "I clearly haven't given you enough work to do. Perhaps we'll start now with addressing your needlework?"

Downtrodden, Arya slunk from her father back to her seat, her shoulders hunched as she reached for her tangled mess of string and needles, curling in on herself as she began silently to prick the needle through the cloth.

Bran had turned back to his notes, the sound of his chalk scratching the slate softly.  _Ravenclaw, that one,_  thought the Hufflepuff. Then, Teddy turned back to Arya and Sansa, the elder who was hiding a smirk as she delicately worked on her golden lion.

Seeing Arya so miserable reminded Teddy of how Lily would pout whenever her brothers would do something and leave her behind; without realizing it, Teddy strode forward away from Ned, who started in surprise, until he plopped himself heavily down on the cushioned two-seater next to Arya, who looked up in shock.

Teddy looked around, saw an extra circular, wooden needlepoint frame, with a white cloth already stretched and fit in it, and picked it up.

Sansa's hands stopped moving. Arya, beside him, hitched her breath and she stared up at him in shock. Septa Mordane made a distressed sound.

"Granger-" she began, but Teddy stopped her.

"Do you have some thread and an extra needle? I think I'm going to stitch the sigil I had on my armour," declared Teddy, smiling widely at the older woman as she stared at him.

When Mordane failed to move, Arya jumped from the seat and rummaged in the wooden bin at the woman's side, withdrawing a black thread and needle. She thrust her hands, one bit in each, at Teddy. "Here!"

"Thanks, Arya," replied Teddy happily. He licked the end of the thread and then concentrated on threading it through the eye of the needle, squinting as he did so with a bit of his tongue sticking out between his lips. Finally, he got it, drew the thread through, and then began to stick it through the cloth, like he had seen Arya and Sansa do.

At his side, Arya sat back down, swinging her feet and smiling widely as she went back to her needlework. Sansa and Mordane stared at Teddy for a bit longer, before returning to their work; but Sansa kept glancing at him (he could see her from his periphery and his magic tingled, letting him know he was being watched). Septa Mordane's looks were more of distress or ire at his audacity.

At one point, a few moments after beginning, and the women settling, Teddy glanced up at Ned and saw that the man was smiling at him, an almost beam-like look in his eyes that read as approval and gratefulness. Catching his eye, Teddy grinned at him and held up his sloppy mess of several lines that barely looked like crossed wands.

"What do you think, Ned? It's going to be a masterpiece, right?"

"Granger!" gasped Mordane, in outrage at Teddy's informal use of the Lord's given name, but Ned himself merely chuckled.

"I think it's the start of something perfect," the Stark replied.

 _Yeah,_  thought Teddy, returning to the needlepoint just as Arya grinned and caught his eye, nearly vibrating in happiness,  _I think you're right about that._

* * *

Robert knew he wasn't a good King. Or a good man, for that matter; whatever was once good in him died the day that Lyanna Stark did, or so he told himself. He could count on one hand the number of people he loved and he'd have four fingers left over (three, if he included himself in the count; two if he added whores and wine). It all came down to - and it always did - Ned Stark.

Ned was supposed to be his brother, tied by marriage through his younger sister. Robert welcomed the idea - he enjoyed spending time with Ned far more than his stoic, bland younger brother Stannis, who walked like he had a rod up his ass and the personality to match a rock. His youngest brother, Renly, was too young for him to engage with to begin, and then later, turned out to be such a disappointment, more concerned about his reputation, fashion, and charming people with the ease and confidence that Robert envied. He greatly disliked one brother, and envied the other and together, that made him irritable and he cared little for the two.

But - Ned? Ned, for all his solid stodginess that Stannis exhibited, could unwind, and in their youth, often became caught up in the same mischief that Robert participated in. On top of that, while he was the 'Quiet Wolf' - a ridiculous title if you asked the King of the Seven Kingdoms - many people failed to realize that it was always quiet before a storm. When Ned raged,  _you knew_. And Robert learned to swiftly get out of the young man's way when he did.

After his storms, Ned would retreat, lick his wounds, and then continue with his life - there was no pretense, no charm. Unlike Renly who would often go out of his way to make amends, Ned did not apologize for what he did or how he acted; he was who he was and always knew that. Robert admired it, and because the man couldn't charm his way under a woman's skirt (or so Robert thought - he was re-evaluating that after learning about Teddy), there was no reason to be envious of his best friend. Robert would get the first pick of the women, loud and bold as he was, and never had to worry about Ned poaching in his territory.

Everything was well, until it wasn't.

His marriage with Cersei wasn't even a partnership; Ned's marriage was a disaster. The war had taken more than just their honour and morals; it took their souls, too.

But then Ned revealed that Hermione was his soul mate; Robert's heart  _clenched_. He wasn't a fool, he knew that his mark did not match Lyanna's at all - his winding rose was similar to Renly's own mark (something he saw when he was younger, bathing his little brother) - and he knew it meant that the person he was supposed to be with was either a Tyrell or someone in Highgarden.

In their culture, people did not marry their soul mates. It was not done; the likelihood, the history of those who  _did_  marry their soul mates or spent a considerable amount of time together often ended in tragedy. Of course, Renly was the one who asked their Maester once: "But what about all those people who  _don't_  tell anyone they're with their match? And all those who live happy lives? We only hear about the  _bad_  ones!" but it was the most insightful thing Robert had heard.

Renly took it and ran - Robert, on the other hand, erred to caution. Why would he want to be tied down to his perfect match anyway? He was having more than enough fun, drinking and whoring his way through life,  _thankyouverymuch_. Thinking that despite his mark not matching Lyanna's, they could learn to be happy made  _him_  happy. There was something special in  _choosing_  who you love.

Ned, however, fell hard and fast for his soul mate; his chose her and despite their estrangement, they had two sons, one from before his marriage with Catelyn, and it seemed equal that Teddy was aware of the man, meaning that Hermione had not shied away from speaking of the Stark in Winterfell.

So Robert would do what a good friend - a  _brother_  - would do, and ensure that those two spent some time together again. And well, if something happened, that was just the way of soul matched, wasn't it?

(It could not be said that he wasn't the tiniest bit a closet romantic.)

"Spider," Robert said, not turning from where he stood looking out the window, overlooking the sprawling mass that was King's Landing. His fingers tightened around the neck of the goblet in his hand, involuntarily.

"Your Grace?"

There was a tenseness to him, and even before Robert opened his mouth he wondered if he was doing the right thing - but he plunged forward regardless; protecting Ned was important. He wasn't one to shy away from adversity.

"What have your birds told you about Hermione Granger?"

There was a brief moment of confusion - Robert could feel it like a tangible weight in the room, but then the atmosphere shifted and Varys slid his hands back into the sleeves of his robes.

"Not much, Your Grace," the spy murmured, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

"Then what  _do_  you know of her?" he asked between gritted teeth. Slamming his war hammer into someone offered better results.

"She arrived in King's Landing a few months ago with her son," the spy explained, reciting the facts as everyone knew them. "They stayed briefly at an Inn and the Innkeeper confirmed they paid him in golden dragons for several weeks' but remained there only for a single night. From there, the guards informed me that Lord Renly moved them into the Maiden Vault and treated with them as - family, Your Grace."

Robert grunted, shifting his eyes from the city to a roll of condensation as it dripped down the side of the golden drink.

"The Lady Granger then left approximately a month and a half into her stay, leaving her son behind," continued the spy. "Lord Edward spent much of his time with Lord Renly and Ser Loras. My little birds have indicated that they spent much time sparring with the young man, teaching him swordplay and even comportment."

"The boy didn't know this before?" asked Robert, turning his head slightly.  _How could Ned's son not know these things? After how he was in the mêlée? How_ did _he grow up?_

He could see Varys from the periphery, and the bald man shook his head. "I have spoken to the young man before, Your Grace, and he is… utterly guileless. Wherever he and the Lady Granger are from, it appears that they are able to be… open… in ways that are alien to the court here. He played no game that I could ascertain."

Robert turned, floored. "Are they - are they smallfolk then?"

Varys tittered, a small smile on his lips. "Not at all, Your Grace. Their clothing is rich and exquisite, in cuts and styles we have never seen here before. Their voice, manner; both young Edward and his mother seem very confident and assured in themselves. No smallfolk would be so."

Robert hummed thoughtfully, bringing the goblet up to take a large gulp of the Arbor gold, thoughts running through his head quickly. "What news do you have of Lady Granger's journey to Valyria?"

Varys sighed. "She left Oldtown and arrived with a favourable wind in Pentos. My - contacts - there noted her arrival, but she soon left the city and was out of my reach. However, I've received… dare I say, rather contrary reports from friends in Myr and Volantis, just recently."

"Get on with it," grunted Robert, his eyes fixed on the man.

"It appears that a woman bearing Lady Granger's description appeared in both cities, a day apart," sighed Varys. "Clearly, my information is compromised in some way, but my birds thought it worth note."

Robert blinked. "A day apart?"

Varys nodded if a little miserably at the failure of his spy network. "The woman in question chartered a small fishing vessel from a man, paying in gold dragons from Westeros, and set sail towards Valyria. She has not yet returned from the Smoking Seas if this is the Lady Granger."

"A damned shame," grumbled Robert, turning from Varys to return looking out the window.  _Poor Ned. To come this close to seeing her again… and the boy - he's orphaned now._

"Your Grace?"

"Make sure that the boy stays with Ned, would you?" ordered Robert. "His mother won't be returning any time soon - if at all - and if he's as unaware of the nest of vipers this place is, he'll need Ned."

Robert could  _feel_  Varys pause. With a growl, he turned his chin to look over his shoulder and rumbled, "Out with it, Spider."

"Your Grace… keeping your Lord Hand's bastard son so close to his trueborn family does… send a particular message," the man hedged slowly.

"So? What of it?"

Varys blinked. "Well, I would imagine that the Lady Stark and the Tullys would take exception."

"Bah!" Robert waved a hand at Varys. "I'll deal with Hoster myself if I need to - and from what I saw, Lady Stark would take exception to anything that would bring Ned joy."

"Er - yes, Your Grace," said Varys, his eyes wide.

"Good. Then, it's settled. And keep your birds looking for Lady Granger, Varys. If she reappears in Volantis, I want to know about it immediately. Send some men there to watch out for her, would you? In case she needs - well, she's important to Ned and if she manages to do what no one else has done in history, and emerge from Valyria, she'll need protection and help to return to Westeros."

Varys nodded slowly, his eyes shrewd. "Yes, Your Grace."

"Now, Spider - is there anything else?" Robert groaned as he walked from the window to a comfortable chaise, reaching for a carafe of wine conveniently placed on a side table within reaching distance.

"Oh yes, Your Majesty; our spy sent a missive," nodded Varys, a playful lilt to his voice as he spoke; very different to when speaking about Hermione Granger. "The Khal is now moving to the Vaes Dothraki -  _away_  from the ocean and Pentos."

Robert sighed into his goblet as he brought it to his lips. "Good. As long as she doesn't make any other moves toward Westeros, the bitch and her Beggar King brother can have Essos."

"Very good, Your Grace," said Varys, bowing his head.

Robert glared at him beadily from over the rim of the goblet. "Well? What are you waiting for? You're fucking done, right?" Varys nodded. "Good. Then fuck off and send in a whore, would you?"

_Meanwhile, in the Queen's royal chambers…_

Cersei stood in a similar position of her husband, not that she knew it. She stood with one hip cocked as she swirled the liquid of her wine around delicately, staring out at King's Landing from her own bedroom suite windows. She did not take in the view, though - instead, her thoughts were turned inward.

"But where did she come from?" she muttered, a furrow appearing between her brows.

"Who?" murmured her companion, his voice, and tone low, as he stalked up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist as his hands crept up to cup her breasts.

Cersei sighed and leaned back against the strong chest. "The  _honourable_  Ned Stark's mistress. The one who birthed the two bastards."

"Her? Who cares?" her companion said, his lips trailing hotly across her jaw.

" _I_  care," groused Cersei, her tone dark and completely removed from what her lover was trying to achieve.

With a huff, he withdrew. "Why? Who cares where Ned Stark stuck his prick?"

Cersei turned from the window, her golden eyebrows raised in mock surprise. Her lover lounged - and pouted - on her bed. " _Why?_  It's important because Catelyn Stark hates her husband. This could be something else to knock the sainted Ned Stark from his pedestal."

"Not to Robert," said the golden-haired man, rolling his eyes.

Cersei rolled her own identical eyes. "Maybe not, Jaime - but with her appearing out of nowhere with a grown son - and from what whispers I've received - they're all favourable towards her. She could be a major player."

"Oh, not this again-"

"Yes,  _this_  again!" snapped Cersei, stalking forward until she loomed over her twin. "I could turn-"

"-No, you can't, not a  _fish_ -"

"Fine," the Queen huffed, "I maybe can't  _turn_  Catelyn Tully, but I can  _use_  her against Ned Stark. Another woman, whom everyone I've spoken to considers bebeautifulnd elegant? She'd be in Stark's corner for sure. I can't use that."

"For  _what_?"

"Anything, everything!" she cried, her long golden hair dangling forward. Jaime reached out and began to wind locks around and between his fingers. "She could be a threat, Jaime! To us! To our children!"

" _Your_  children," he grumbled with a frown.

"Don't start," she warned, her voice low and dangerous.

Jaime sighed and rolled onto his back, letting go of his sister's hair. "And what of Stark's bastards, hmm? It was bad enough seeing that pouty black-haired brat at Winterfell - he was literally a walking copy of his father. At least the other one here isn't too bad…"

"Too bad?" repeated Cersei, incredulously. "Anyone who isn't us, is a threat, Jaime. A threat to  _everything_  we Lannisters have created."

"That boy is more naive than a babe," complained Jaime. "He's a walking mess."

"He  _appears_  that way," retorted Cersei. "All bastards are dangerous. He just wants us to think that of him! And my stupid, idiotic husband thinks to keep someone like him around! So near the power base!"

"Well, given the amount of bastards that man has running around, this probably is something else the King thinks he and his chosen brother can share," sighed Jaime.

Cersei blinked. Then, a slow smile spread across her lips. "The  _bastards_ , yes - Jaime, you're a genius!"

Turning his morose face away from where he had been drifting, Jaime's eyes returned to his sister's bright green ones. "What? What about them?"

Cersei's smile was catlike and she crawled on the bed, across it until she straddled her brother's hips and ground down. Jaime's breath hitched.

"It's nothing, Jaime," she breathed, leaning down and trailing her lips across his cheek and up to his ear. "Don't worry about it…"

Jaime groaned, and thought nothing more of Hermione Granger, Teddy Granger, Jon Snow, or the other bastards.

* * *

It was loud and noisy down the Street of Steel. Jory, who had done the investigating on Ned's orders, had found the information a week after Teddy had joined them in the Tower of the Hand and was currently leading him down the winding street. On either side of the cobblestones were tall wooden buildings, mixed in with steel and copper. Signs hung from extended rods, signalling the name of the shop owner, or an image of their craft. Throughout the street were the noises of iron striking steel, the ringing of instruments against one another, and even the hiss of steam as it escaped from cold buckets.

"This way, M'Lord," said Jory, indicating, and cleverly sidestepping a harried man with two buckets of nails in either hand. "It's not much further."

Ned restrained a sigh, and squared his shoulders. Things had been tense since the end of the Tourney, and managing two wilful girls along with a bookish son was something he could do - adding Teddy to the mix had been decidedly awkward. The young man had hesitantly eased himself into the room that his servants had prepared for him in the Tower of the Hand, all incredibly curious about what this other Snow would be like.

Teddy was  _nothing_  like a son of Westeros, and even Ned was shocked despite knowing bits and pieces of Hermione's culture in her world. The young man was hesitant, but when prompted, could talk for  _ages_ , never once stopping in a nervous ramble. It was exhausting, but it kept the children fixated on him, peppering him with questions that he skillfully and then not so skillfully answered to avoid speaking of magic or his realm; and through it all, it gave Ned an opportunity to observe the teenager.

At first, it was the eyes that drew Ned in; Teddy had the same amber-like eyes that Hermione had. But then, he could see the similarities in mannerism peek through: the biting of his lip when nervous, the awkward, breathless ramble when nervous or excited; even the wringing of his hands when anxious, they were all Hermione.

It was a balm to Ned's scarred heart, easing the guilt he felt from his own marriage and the children he had with his wife, despite loving someone else.

The Sept of Baelor overlooked the winding street, and Ned tipped his head back to catch a few rays of sunlight as they filtered through gauzy strips of silk and cloth hanging across lines from one building to another, flapping gently in the wind.

Jory led Ned around a curve, up towards the Sept along Visenya's Hill. And just as he breached the curve, the sun burst from behind a cloud and caught the crowd that moved up and down the cobblestone street - one figure in particular.

She was dressed oddly; instead of a Southron dress, she wore sturdy trousers and a long tunic overtop, layered with a jacket of some sort and a bag strapped across her chest that she clutched tightly to her side. She was looking around curious, idly weighing the pros and cons of the armourers on either side of her on the street.

The sun glinted off her brown hair, catching on the curls, and Ned felt his breath catch as he froze in the street.

Jory, unnoticing, passed the woman. When he took a few more steps forward, he partially turned and looked around for his liege lord in confusion. Spotting him, he frowned and called, "My Lord? Lord Stark?"

The woman's head swung around, her eyes wide as they collided with his.

 _Hermione_.

He barely noticed that he took a few steps forward.

Hermione was likewise frozen, but recovered far quicker than he did. She took a few loping steps, allowing the momentum of the slope to pull her down, and then Ned opened his arms and she was in them, clutching at his shoulders tightly and he was breathing in her scent, his nose buried in her hair.

"It's you," she breathed. "Oh Merlin, Ned - it's  _you_."

"Hermione," he replied, his voice low.

Then, reluctantly, he drew back.

His eyes scanned her face, cataloguing the differences between the nineteen-year-old girl he knew and the thirty-seven year old woman in front of him. There were faint crow's lines at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth, both made more obvious when she smiled at him. Her eyes were still a deep, reflective amber and her teeth a brilliant white.

"You haven't changed at all," he laughed.

She fell back to the flat of her feet and crossed her arms. "You're going grey at the temples. Stress getting to you?"

Self-consciously, he raised a hand to the side of his head. "You have no idea."

Although meant in jest, the words sobered her and her arms fell to the side. "Oh, Ned…"

"Hermione," he chided, rolling his eyes - he always was more expressive with her than anyone else. "Stop that."

She sighed, complying.

They stood for a few moments in silence as Jory hovered awkwardly a few steps away, pointedly looking in the opposite direction to give them both some semblance of privacy - although Ned could tell the man was listening with how red the tips of his ears were.

Inwardly, the Lord of Winterfell sighed.  _Wonderful. Jory, like the rest of my staff, knows that Catelyn and I are estranged. And now I've happily greeted another woman - one that Jory knows is Hermione, and therefore Ted's mother! Gods - this must be like him being witness to a clandestine meeting of two lovers._

"You made good time returning from Valyria," said Ned, drawing back and settling the mantle of Lord on his shoulders, allowing his voice to cool.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the tone but nodded. "It's amazing what someone with my abilities can do, right?"

 _I should have seen that one coming,_  thought Ned ruefully. "Did you find answers?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. But I don't know who I can trust to go to. I found some trinkets - jewelry and the like. A sword, and even some remains."

"Well," began Ned slowly, his mouth twisting a bit as he considered her haul, "I am heading to an armourer. He's reputed as one of the best in the Seven Kings and Free Cities. Perhaps he can help?"

"Brilliant!" enthused Hermione, brightening up and joining Ned at his elbow.

He caught Jory's eyes and the man nodded sharply once, then took off at a pace that kept him several feet ahead of the two but always in sight.

From the corner of his eye, Ned saw Hermione's finger twitch. There was a strange buzzing sound for a moment - as a swarm of bees had overtaken him - and then it disappeared. Everything was in clear quality again, and he raised a quizzical brow at her. "Don't you need - a  _you know what_  - to do that?"

Grinning, Hermione shook her head. "Children do; I don't. Not for many years now." When his look didn't ease, Hermione explained, "I cast  _muffliato_  - it's a silencing charm. No one can hear what we're saying right now."

"Clever," said Ned, lips twitching. "If only we used it those few times in the Eyrie. Maybe Robert would've handled Teddy's unveiling better."

Both of Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? How did that come about? Usually, he's careful enough to avoid the nobility in the Red Keep."

Ned sighed. "Renly enlisted him in the mêlée for the tournament."

Hermione stared hard at Ned. "He did  _not_."

"Oh, yes, he did," replied Ned, shaking his head. "To be fair, Teddy handled himself well - of course, knowing who he is now - well, that changes things. He probably used-" Ned glanced around and cleared his throat. "-Anyway, he came in third. He did very well for his first tournament, so much so that he impressed not just the King, but Bronze Royce and Thoros of Myr."

Hermione grumbled something under her breath that was not complimentary to Renly.

Ned glanced at her in surprise, at the litany of threats that fell from her lips, many of which included some form of disfigurement on Renly's person. "Learned that in the war, did you?"

"Is that your way of asking what happened?" asked Hermione, searchingly, as she peered up at the taller man.

Ned squirmed. "I apologize; that was poorly done. What are - how are your friends? Harry and Ron?"

Hermione looked at him for a bit longer and then sighed, capitulating. "Harry's a Head Auror - a dark wizard catcher, essentially. That is, he's law enforcement. Ron used to partner with Harry, but a few years ago decided it wasn't for him and joined George at the joke shop, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," muttered Ned, his thoughts turning inward. "Joke shop? Those were… the twins, correct? Fred and George?"

Hermione felt her face spasm for a moment. "Fred died during the war."

"I'm sorry," said Ned, briefly reaching out to touch her shoulder. Their eyes caught, and Ned was once again struck by the colour, sucked into Hermione and everything about her until she blinked and looked away.

"So am I. The war wasn't kind to us."

Ned reached forward and drew her arm into the crook of his elbow. Ahead, he saw Jory glance back, nearly stumble on an upturned stone, and then quickly right himself. One ear, with his long hair tucked behind it, was still bright red.

"They never are."

Ned felt Hermione pause. Her voice was soft when she spoke. "I heard about Lyanna. I'm so sorry."

The lingering pain of Lyanna's death - somehow more vibrant and echoing than Brandon's or his father's - clenched against Ned's heart and his chest tightened. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then muttered, "I am, too. Who -?"

"Fred, as you know. Harry - briefly. Professor Dumbledore, and Snape," said Hermione, recognizing his pain and beginning to list those who died in her war. Ned found himself thinking,  _Harry? Briefly? How does one die 'briefly'?_ as Hermione continued, "Tonks. Remus-"

"Lupin? Remus Lupin?" Ned was startled and stared at Hermione in surprise, catching her own surprised face as she turned up to him. "Your professor in your third year?"

"You remembered," said Hermione, a delighted smile on her face. She nodded. "Yes. He was a brilliant man. And Teddy's father, too."

This time, Ned stopped in the middle of the street, feeling his mouth go slack. Someone bumped into his shoulder; the man mumbled, " _Oi_  - watch it -" and then froze when he recognized not just the fisted hand pin on Ned's chest, but also the Winterfell direwolf sigil. He began apologizing profusely, even bowing, drawing attention.

However, Ned took no notice of this. Jory had to double back and was in the process of gently - and not so gently - ushering the man away when Ned sputtered, "Hermione! You and your  _professor_?"

Hermione, whose amused eyes had been on the apologetic man and Jory's attempts, absently said, "What?" But then the words Ned uttered went through her brain and her heart nearly stopped. "Oh Merlin, Ned! Really? Me and  _Remus_? No. No - God, he was married to  _Tonks_. Teddy's theirs."

Ned's head spun. " _What_. Then… he's not…?"

"He might as well be," sighed Hermione, and with a gentle tug on his arm, prompted him to continue to walk. She offered Jory a small smile, who sighed, but continued ahead as well. Hermione's voice was even as she explained, "After his parents died in the war, his grandmother Andromeda took him in. But her health was never the same after losing her husband, daughter, and son-in-law during the war. She passed when Teddy was nine."

"Hermione-"

"Harry's his godfather, but he was busy with work and his own marriage and children to take Teddy on properly," the woman continued, and Ned noted that her voice was carefully modulated to avoid any disapproval to leak out, if that was how she felt. "So I'd step in wherever, and soon Teddy was spending most of his time in the summer with me while he was attending Hogwarts. That's not to say that Harry or Ginny neglected him or failed to treat him as family - they just had more to spread around and sometimes, like in larger families, Teddy would find himself alone."

The similarities were staggering to Ned - despite being worlds apart, he and Hermione continued to mimic each other's paths. "So you raised him."

She nodded. "As good as."

Ned's voice was warm and heavy with admiration when he spoke. "I always thought you would be a good mother."

In response, Hermione laughed, tossing her head back and letting her curls catch the light. Ned saw more than just a few admiring glances thrown her way as she did so. "Please. Ted would be the first to tell you how absent-minded or driven I can be when it comes to research; I tend to disappear into my work."

They fell silent, both contemplating adulthood and parenthood as the Street of Steel became steeper as they neared the top. Hermione then ventured the topic again, asking lightly, "What about you? How do you find fatherhood?"

 _How honest should I be?_  wondered Ned, before realizing if he couldn't be honest with his soul mate, then there would be no one else he could trust. "It's not what I expected."

"I never thought it would be," hummed Hermione.

Ned paused, and then rushed out, "I… after Robb… I didn't want any other children."

He kept his head forward but felt the weight of Hermione's eyes on the side of his face as she took in his confession. Her words were slow when emerged from her lips, but held no judgment; just a query. "But you have four others. Or is it five?"

"Jon pushed me into marriage with Catelyn, to gain her father's support and alliance in the war after Brandon's death," began Ned, wincing at how cold he sounded. "They were betrothed and I stepped in after. We had Robb to secure that alliance, but with the death of Brandon and Lyanna during the war and Benjen taking the Black, my goodfather wanted me to secure the Stark line with more children. We had two girls and I - I couldn't bear to continue. My marriage is a cold one, Hermione."

The street levelled out, the noise from the busy throughway faded; at the top of the street were the priciest and best armourers, and only a few could afford visits, leaving the street bare of patrons. Despite the lack of general noisiness, Hermione kept her voice quiet when she replied.

"I'm sorry, Ned."

 _In for a copper, in for a dragon_ , thought Ned and finished with, "Bran isn't mine. My youngest. But like you - I'm raising him. But, er. Catelyn doesn't know that  _I_  know she was unfaithful."

Hermione gasped, and Ned chanced to look at her. Her mouth was open, although hidden behind her free hand, and her eyes were wide as she stared up at him. He could practically hear the loud  _no!_  that rang through her mind.

"And Jon…" He sighed;  _she did tell me the truth about Teddy, after all_. "He's not mine, although I've let everyone think he is."

Hermione's hand dropped and her brows furrowed. "Why?"

Ned's stare was heavy when he said, "Harrenhal, Hermione. Harrenhal was the end. No Stark should ever come south."

He could see the wheels turn in her head; she figured it out faster than anyone else possibly could have with the least amount of information. "Oh. Oh,  _Ned_. From what I knew of her, she would approve. What is it that you Starks say? The lone wolf dies…"

"... but the pack survives, yes." He began to slow as Jory did ahead of them, still trying to keep a respectful distance despite the silencing charm still active. "Keeping him with the rest of us was - important. Safe, against Robert's wrath toward the Targaryens."

"We've made a right mess of things, haven't we?" sighed Hermione, her eyes skipping forward and then up at some of the red silks above them. Her mouth was turned down and there was something sad in her eyes.

Unable to stand that, Ned gently teased, "Well, people  _do_  seem to think that Ted is ours. And, I think, Sansa's comment might have implied Jon is too."

Hermione, appreciative, grinned. "Clearly we were busy before the war."

"Only we know the truth - and we both know what we know," chuckled Ned. Then, he paused before clearing his throat and saying, gruffly, "I missed you. After - after your torture - I wasn't sure if -"

Hermione winced. "I was alive? I - I wasn't in a good head space after everything. It took me a few years to feel like me again; after reconstruction and my parents -" She sighed, a heavy, soul-cutting sound. "I cut you off. I shouldn't have."

"You did what you had to do to protect yourself. I can't blame you for that."

"I left you alone when you needed me."

Ned shook his head. "Many people I loved left me during and after the war, Hermione. I learned to cope."

Hermione frowned heavily at him. "You shouldn't have had to."

He shrugged in reply. "I managed."

"Ned…"

"Perhaps we should look forward instead of to the past, Hermione." He kept his head forward and saw that Jory had stopped in front of an open storefront, where several loud bangs and clangs were ringing through the air. Hermione however, did not notice. She kept all her attention on him and their conversation, happy to let him lead her around while they spoke.

"What's done is done and can't be undone," she said slowly, eyes skipping around his face as she tried to search it for something. He glanced down at her and she stilled. "But… moving forward is something we both can do. I agree."

He smiled. "Good. Then - how shall we handle this with Teddy and Jon?"

They stopped in the street.

"Is it harming anyone?" she asked seriously.

Ned shook his head. "Not particularly, I suppose. And it keeps you both safe, to some degree. But with Robert - well, I must apologise in advance. He's going to want to know everything about you. You and Ted can't hide from him."

"I think I'm long overdue in meeting him anyway," said Hermione, a grin on her face at the idea of meeting the infamous Robert Baratheon.

However, Ned wasn't so sure. "Hermione - you don't know him," he said, slowly. "He's tenacious and loud. Quick to anger. He's… he's changed.  _I_  don't know him anymore. I barely recognize anyone from the war. It changed us all - and probably not for the better."

" _You_  haven't changed. You're the same boy I met when I was a girl. I watched you grow, Ned. I know who you are."

Ned scoffed. "A man who lies? Who betrays his honour and marriage vows?"

"When did you ever cheat on your wife?" retorted Hermione hotly. "She's betrayed  _you_."

Ned's reply was a soft, unhappy laugh that began low in his bellow and was lacking in any form of mirth when he admitted, "Oh, Hermione - I've been cheating on her since the day I married her - maybe not physically, but I swore two promises to Lyanna that day. One to Jon; and the other - to my soul mate if I would ever see her again. I never stopped hoping - never stopped-"

He broke the sentence off and stopped, clamping his mouth shut.

Hermione's eyes were wide. "Ned-"

"Forgive me. Seeing you again has - loosened my tongue," he shook his head and then tilted it toward the storefront they were before. Inside, he could see a curious shadow darting forward and then back as it anxiously watched them. "Shall we continue to Tohbo Mott's?"

With a frown, Hermione nodded. "This isn't over," she murmured as he offered for her to go first. He felt the tingle of her magic wash over him as she dropped the spell, and resisted sighing out loud.

 _Hermione never did know when to leave things well enough alone_ , he thought, watching as she entered the shop, Jory taking up a guard position at the door.

 _But then again_ , he continued wryly as he entered the armoury that Jon Arryn had visited before he died,  _apparently, neither did I._

* * *

The walk back to the Tower of the Hand in the Red Keep was slow and quiet; both Ned and Hermione were consumed with their thoughts of what they had learned at Mott's - for Ned, it was the Robert lookalike in his second-eldest bastard, Gendry Waters, and his mysterious benefactor who helped him gain the blacksmith apprenticeship. But how that connected to why Jon Arryn was killed, or why Stannis fled the city, was something altogether different.

For Hermione, it was the few trinkets she had produced to show Mott: a pair of Valyrian daggers, some jewelry pieces, and a rather elaborate dragon-motif goblet. The rest of her items, including the fancy Gryffindor-like sword, she kept to herself. A part of her magic resonated to the sword, like the daggers; like calling to like. That made her wary of the sword in general, thinking it might be magical in the way that the Sword of Gryffindor was magical.

Mott, having the ability to rework Valyrian steel (or so he claimed), had practically salivated over the daggers when Hermione handed them over. Even Gendry had taken one look at the pieces and nearly brought his hammer down on his hand, as his eyes grew wide.

Ultimately, Hermione commissioned Mott to sharpen the blades, and rework their badly damaged leather sheaths so that she could present them to Teddy later. Relying on just their wands and magic was a bad idea - having a second method to fight, given that she doubted Teddy would ever want to carry a sword around, would be a better idea.

The jewelry and goblet, Hermione would allow Mott to either sell them on or melt the material down to recreate, with her receiving a generous portion of the sale.

Finally, she passed over the Targaryen pendant that brought her and Teddy to Westeros, and asked him about it.

"Mm," the man said, squinting at it and running his thick, callused fingers over the piece. "Obsidian," he finally declared, which Hermione had sussed out herself. At her side, Ned peered down at the piece curiously, but there was a hint of distaste in the curl of his lip.

"Yes, but what about that silver thread running through the runes? Also, what language is that? I don't recognize it," she admitted with some chagrin.

"The language? It has elements of High Valyrian," Mott replied, running his hand over his short beard on his chin thoughtfully. "As for the thread through the obsidian? It could possibly be silver, but I doubt it. Maybe something similar to the Dayne's falling star metal that forged Dawn? Sky iron?"

Hermione turned a curious look at Ned, who cleared his throat and said, "Dawn is the name of House Dayne's sword. Where my Valyrian greatsword is dark, theirs is light because it made of a different metal - they claim from a falling star."

A pensive look crossed Hermione's face. "Oh!  _Sky iron_. Or-" she peered back at the pendant as Mott handed it back. "Meteoric ore."

Mott peered at Hermione beadily. "You are familiar with this kind of metal?"

"Not very," she admitted, giving him a tight smile and then pocketing the pendant in her beaded bag. "But I'm aware of how it's studied."

While this left Hermione with the notion of a potentially otherworldly pendant, she was beginning to make connections: anything from Valyria was spell-forged and likely magically induced, meaning it made sense that it called to her and it - somehow - ended up in her world with the Selwyns. How, she was still not sure. As for why? She was still working on that.

Those thoughts consumed her until Ned stopped her. "You'd best go on without me," he said when she looked up in confusion.

"Oh?"

Ned glanced ahead, and Hermione turned to see Renly, who gave an apologetic wave, looking miserable. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, walking closer. "But Robert's called a meeting of the Small Council. I thought I'd try to get you in the Tower, but your man said you were out."

His eyes glanced curiously between the two.

"I had business elsewhere," said Ned, shortly.

"Yes, I see." Renly let his eyebrows wriggle, causing Hermione to roll hers.

"Don't even start, you," she said, in her best 'you're in trouble' voice, one that she used on Teddy and Harry's children often enough. Renly blinked in shock. "Oh? Did you not think I wouldn't find out about Teddy being in the tournament?"

"Now, Lady Granger…" began Renly.

Hermione's smile was vicious. "Oh, yes, Renly, please - tell me all about how Ted entered a tournament when he has  _little to no skill_  in swordplay."

"I'll leave you to that," said Ned, hiding a smile as he turned away from Renly. She caught his eyes and winked. "When's the meeting, Renly?"

"Not for another hour or two," he all but whimpered as Hermione turned her stare on him. He paled under it.

"I'll freshen up and meet you there," he said instead, bowing to Hermione. "Until later, Hermione."

"Bye, Ned," the witch said, turning her full attention on the young Baratheon Lord who gulped and warbled, "Now, Lady Granger - I must say, my brother is expecting me shortly -"

As Ned walked away, he heard Hermione say, "Oh, this won't take long, Renly. I promise. And it won't even  _hurt_."

"No?"

"Well… maybe a little. Tell me, how did Ted look at the end of the fight?"

* * *

The Small Council room was crowded for the first time in the six months Ned had been in King's Landing, and he immediately stopped upon entering, eyes taking in the full members, including Robert, who vibrated angrily in his seat.

Upon seeing his best friend, he slammed his hand on the table and shouted, "The whore is pregnant! I warned you this would happen. Back in the North, I warned you, but you didn't care to hear. Well, hear it now! I want 'em dead. Mother and child both. And that fool Viserys as well, is that plain enough for you? I want them both dead!"

Taken aback, Ned glanced around the room. Varys was stone-faced as usual, but Renly could not meet his eyes as he slouched further down in his seat - something Ned now knew he picked up from Teddy - while Littlefinger had a cruel little smirk on his face as he twirled a quill. Maester Pycelle hacked into a handkerchief. Standing behind Robert, Ser Barristan Selmy shifted uneasily in his armour.

 _You won't even speak up?_  thought Ned angrily, glancing at the man as he moved slowly to his seat.  _You, who served Aerys and the royal family before Robert. You knew this girls' brother and mother. You dare throw her to the whims of the stag now?_

Carefully, Ned said, "You're speaking of murdering a child." He made sure Robert caught his eyes when he continued, "You will dishonour yourself forever if you do this-"

" _Honour_?" roared Robert. "I've got Seven Kingdoms to rule!  _One_  King,  _Seven_  Kingdoms! Do you think  _honour_  keeps them in line?! Do you think it's honour that's keeping the peace?! It's  _fear_! Fear and  _blood_!"

Ned struggled to keep his mouth from dropping open.

"Fear and blood?" he echoed, incredulously. Then his voice rose. "Fear and blood? If that's what you're using to maintain the peace, Robert, then we're no better than the Mad King!"

There was a stunned silence in the room, and Robert stared at Ned, blatant shock on his round face as he reeled back from the accusation. Then, he blinked and shock was gone, leaving him ruddy-cheeked and his eyes narrowed. "Careful, Ned!  _Careful now_!"

"You want to assassinate a girl because the Spider heard a rumor?" demanded Ned, gesturing at Varys, who withdrew his hands from his sleeves and held them up in a placating manner.

"No rumor, My Lord. The princess is with child," the Spider said evenly, glancing between the two angry men.

"Based on whose information?" asked Renly, speaking for the first time. His voice trembled a bit as he glanced at his elder brother, but Robert merely breathed heavily through his nose, snorting.

"Ser Jorah Mormont. He is serving as an adviser to the Targaryens," answered Varys.

"Mormont?" Ned let out a loud, short bark of sarcastic laughter. "You bring us the whispers of a traitor half a world away and call it fact? What is the man doing in Essos with the Targaryen girl anyway? I thought he would be spoiling his wife, since that's what got him exiled, to begin with!"

"Jorah Mormont's a slaver, not a traitor," explained Baelish, his voice patronizing. He smiled grimly at Ned. "Small difference, I know, to an honorable man."

"I fear we're getting off the topic here," interrupted Renly again, his face pale. "The question is if the Targaryen girl dies-"

" _If_?" rumbled Robert darkly, staring at his brother.

Renly audibly gulped and sat back in his seat, curling his shoulders.

"Let's speak of  _ifs_ , Ned!  _What if_  he's right?!  _If_  she has a son?!" Robert levelled a stare at his oldest friend, who stared stonily back. "A Targaryen at the head of a Dothraki army!  _What then_?!"

"We discussed this. The Narrow Sea still lies between us. I'll fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water," replied Ned, throwing a hand out.

Robert gaped for a long moment before rising to his feet, struggling a moment as his stomach caught on the edge of the table and he nearly stumbled as the chair failed to push back enough for him. "Do nothing?!  _That's_ your wise advice?! Do nothing till our enemies are on our shores?!"

Ned said nothing.

Undeterred, Robert leaned forward over the table toward the Northerner. "And  _what if_  those enemies - that invading Dothraki horde arrived, Ned?  _Hmm_? What if they landed on  _your_  shores?" he leaned even closer. "What if they attacked your lands? Your people? You damned honourable fool,  _what if they attacked Hermione and Teddy?_ "

" _DO NOT_!" Ned shouted, startling everyone in the room as he mimicked Robert's pose and leaned forward, his grey eyes narrowed. " _Do not_  bring them - do not bring my children - my family - into this, Robert. You don't want to go there."

From the side, Ned could see the stunned looks on Varys and Pycelle's faces. Renly's mouth had dropped open, and Selmy appeared torn between withdrawing his sword as a deterrent and letting Ned speak. Only Baelish seemed to relish the tension, leaning back in his chair and steeping his fingers, hiding his mouth behind them.

Eventually, as the two men stared at each other, Varys cleared his throat and ventured, "I understand your misgivings, my lord. Truly, I do. It is a terrible thing we must consider, a vile thing. Yet we who presume to rule must sometimes do vile things for the good of the realm. Should the gods grant Daenerys a son, the realm will bleed."

Ned eased back, and Robert nodded, thrusting a finger at his Master of Spies. "What he said!"

Emboldened, Pycelle added: "I bear this girl no ill will, but should the Dothraki invade, how many innocents will die? How many towns will burn? Is it not wiser, kinder even, that she should die now, so that tens of thousands might live?"

Ned snorted. "For the greater good, then, Grand Maester? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of one girl, one who has already lost much of her family?"

"By their own design!" snapped Robert, heaving with anger.

"When you find yourselves in bed with an ugly woman, best close your eyes and get it over with. Cut her throat and be done with it!" Baelish added his two coppers, causing Ned to snarl wordlessly at him, turning away from the King.

Baelish blinked and lost a bit of his smugness.

Ned swung his head back around to face Robert. "I followed you into war.  _Twice_. Without doubts, without second thoughts. But I will  _not_ follow you now. The Robert I grew up with didn't tremble at the shadow of an unborn child. The Robert I grew up with didn't threaten my family."

Robert stood straight, taller than he had for a long, long time. He said, his voice low, "She dies."

"I will have no part in it," replied Ned, just as quietly.

Robert narrowed his eyes. "You're the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You'll do as I command, or I'll find me a Hand who will!"

The room stilled.

"Very well," said Ned, almost breathing it. He repeated the words, louder, removing the badge and tossing it heavily onto the table, where it skittered and landed in front of Robert, who stared down at it, dumbfounded. "Very well. And good luck to him. I thought you were a better man."

Robert's head snapped up, anger suffusing it once more - but Ned had already turned around, turned his back on the King, the insult blatant. There was noise as chairs scraped back and someone was muttering lowly to Robert, trying to calm him - but his voice echoed as Ned left the room, walking without, for once, glancing at the Iron Throne as he did so.

" _Out! Out, damn you! I'm done with you! I'll have your head on a spike! I'll put it there myself, you fool! After all I've done for you, Ned! I'm done! Done!"_

* * *

Robert's parting, shouted words rang in Ned's head as he angrily strode away from the Red Keep, intent on reaching the Tower of the Hand after cooling off a bit, first:  _Go, run back to Winterfell! You think you're too good for this, too proud and honourable? This is a war!_

 _You damned fool, Robert!_  thought Ned, gritting his teeth as he hurriedly moved down the empty halls towards his Tower.  _This isn't the war you were worried about! The Dothraki will_ never _cross the ocean, and even if they can be convinced with this new child, it won't be for years yet! We have_ time.

He was so focused on his desire to return to the Tower and immediately begin packing - thank the Gods, he hated being in King's Landing - that he didn't notice the two figures ahead of him until he was literally on top, running right into the woman as he rounded the corner of an exterior wall.

" _Oof_!"

"I beg your apology, my Lady -  _Hermione_?!"

The two looked at each other for a moment, startled. At Hermione's side, Teddy knelt and helped her to her feet.

"You okay there, Ned?" asked Teddy, a hand on Hermione's elbow as they both looked at the flushed face of the Northerner.

Ned glanced away and rubbed at his neck. He sighed. "The King and I had a disagreement of moralities. I resigned as Hand of the King."

Hermione's eyes grew wide and Teddy let out a low whistle. "Are you leaving King's Landing then?" the wizard asked.

Ned nodded, glancing from Teddy to focus on Hermione. "I'm going to head back North. I - that is -" he glanced away and then back at Hermione, from under his lashes despite being taller. "Would you care to join me north? Meet the rest of the children? See the North?"

Hermione and Teddy glanced at one another; some silent kind of communication passed between the two; there was a clear bond between them, so much so that if Ned didn't know the truth of Teddy's parentage, his closeness to Hermione would still make him believe they were blood-related.

"We accept," said Hermione with a grin. The sun bounced off the whitewashed stone behind them, gleaming off her hair and making them squint against the glare. The brightness was matched by the happiness in Hermione's expression.

Ned felt his lips twitch into a smile in response. "Excellent. I will inform Jory and the staff as well. I should go and tell the children, though."

"When do you think you'll go?" asked Teddy. "I have plans with Renly and Loras that I'll have to cancel."

"Plans?" asked Ned, curiously, as they stood there in the secluded and empty outdoor garden.

Teddy nodded. "Apparently the King has a hunt planned, and he wanted Renly to come along - there's definitely some bad blood there regarding Renly's dislike for the more gruesome aspects of life here - and Renly didn't want to go without Loras or me. Loras was planning on visiting his family in Highgarden, so I said I'd go."

Hermione frowned. "Is that supposed to be soon?"

"Within the next few days," confirmed Teddy.

"I was planning to leave by the week's end," replied Ned, his voice dropping low as he thought. "Perhaps we can leave around the same time? It would mean not going, of course-"

Teddy shrugged and grinned, something wolfish and completely antithetical to his words and his father's creature nature. "That's fine. I honestly said yes to keep Renly company; not because I want to hunt something."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And that gives us a few days to finish up your investigation."

"My investigation?" echoed Ned.

"In Jon Arryn's death?" confirmed Hermione. "Have you got any further with it?"

Ned sighed. "Not at all. All my leads are either dead, or they end up going nowhere."

"I'm sure we can figure something out," she replied, reaching forward to touch Ned's forearm. He smiled down at her in gratitude, softly. They remained motionless for a moment as Teddy glanced between the two of them, fighting a small smile from his face.

"I would like that very much," Ned finally replied, his voice quiet and his eyes soft.

Finally, Teddy cleared his throat and watched as Ned blinked and Hermione jerked her hand back; both had been lost in their soul mate. "Well, I'd best go and find Renly and Loras then. I'll see you back at your rooms, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded, fighting a blush and looking directly at Teddy instead of Ned, who was fussing with his tunic and belt, straightening them.

"Until later then," she muttered, glancing briefly up at Ned, who nodded and murmured the words back. Their eyes held until Teddy tugged on Hermione's arm and they continued in the direction Ned had come from. He remained motionless, watching them go until they entered the building. He then shook himself and continued, much of the anger drained from him.

He had things he needed to do before they left, including thinking of something to say to his wife when he brought Hermione into Winterfell.

* * *

Catelyn's nose wrinkled as she hurriedly walked the streets of King's Landing. The stench of sewage and rotten food was strong, and she was reminded of how much she hated the capital; enough people had warned her about the stench, and her first visit was shaping up to be memorable. Riverrun  _never_  smelled like this, and Winterfell had sophisticated tubing that ran through the walls to flush water.

She drew her hood further up her head, covering her red hair and looked around. Ser Rodrik, behind her, grumbled under his breath, unhappy at the number of people pressing in on them on either side as they walked down the dock from the boat they chartered.

"Stay close, my lady," the man cautioned, using his bulky form to make a path through the crowd. "You can't trust anyone in this cesspool."

"I hope you can trust me," a cultured voice broke across them.

Catelyn turned, eyes wide as she spotted a few guards shoving some people away from a well-dressed and clean-looking man as he peered through a wheelhouse. Catelyn recognized that beard and scheming gray-green eyes. Her heart beat faster. "Petyr!"

Baelish pushed open the door and ushered Catelyn instead. "You can take a horse, can't you?" he directed at Rodrik, whose lips curled into a sneer, but he took the stead offered by one of the guards.

"It's good to see you again, Cat," the man grinned, reaching out and grasping her hands as she sat primly on the cushioned seat. "It's been too long. You're wasted in that Northern snowscape."

Catelyn grasped his hands as well, holding them tight. "Petyr."

"Now," began Baelish with a sly grin, "Tell me what brings you to King's Landing? Surely you're not missing that odious husband of yours?"

"Not at all," replied the redhead with a similar smile, although hers was less sly and more content. "Lysa sent a raven."

"Oh?"

Catelyn nodded, turning a bit in the seat to face him. "She said that the Lannisters are trying to kill the King. That Jon Arryn discovered this and  _that_  is why they killed him. She fled with her son, fearing for her life."  
Baelish's mustache twitched and he leaned back into the cushion. "Is that so?"

"Have you heard differently?" asked Catelyn, leaning forward.

"My whores haven't reported anything," he said, shaking his head. "If the Queen or her golden brother were trying anything, they've been carefully keeping it secret. So secret even my spies haven't sussed it out. Besides," he said, with a glance toward his childhood friend, "The entire court is consumed with Lady Granger."

Catelyn scowled. " _Her_."

"Yes," agreed Baelish, watching Catelyn carefully. "Does she bother you?"

"Bother me?" repeated Catelyn, incredulously as she drew back from the man, staring at him. "Of  _course_  she bothers me! I don't care one whit for Eddard Stark - you know this - but it is  _another_  to blatantly shame me and our children in front of the entire realm! How dare he have a woman on the side and then allow her to remain in his life? What kind of common tart is she?"

"Not one of mine," joked Baelish, but at Catelyn's glare, he backtracked. "My sincerest apologies, Cat. That was in poor taste to your feelings on the matter."

"What do you know of her?" demanded Catelyn as the wheelhouse bumped over a particularly uneven area of stone, winding its way through the city.

Baelish scowled. "Not much, I'm afraid. Very little is known about her other than the basics. Even Varys' little birds are having difficulty pinning down information on her. We know the basics: her name, approximate age, hair, and eye colour. According to most of the court, the men find her attractive and the women find her aloof. They all agreed on intelligent and the servants in the Red Keep like her and her son as they are kind and always have something to say to them."

Catelyn's brows pinched. "Her son. What about him?"

"Ah, yes, Edward Granger." Baelish turned to rest on arm along the window ledge and reclined in his seat, mimicking Catelyn's pose so that their knees brushed on every bump and shock. "Prefers Teddy; he's a close... companion of both Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell."

"How close?" asked Catelyn, wrinkling her nose.

Baelish shrugged. "I doubt as close as those two are with their peculiar friendship, but enough that the three are nearly inseparable. Ser Loras was the one who taught Granger to swordfight. Rumour has it that Lord Stark has engaged his household staff to help educate the young man on any deficiencies he has regarding Westerosi custom."

"Is having that boy close to my children damaging Sansa's marriage?" burst out Catelyn, eyes wide. Her hands fluttered up to her throat in anxiety. "She's to marry the  _prince_! How could Ned let a bastard close to his children? This is no Jon Snow, whom they grew up with! This bastard is a  _stranger_!"

The wheelhouse began to slow, then came to a crawl and stop. Baelish glanced out the window as a guard opened the door for him.

"I'm not sure," he replied with a slight frown. "Come - let us walk from here; I have somewhere safe for you to stay where no one will think to look for you." He glanced back, eyes flickering between her hooded cloak and red hair. "And put that up - your hair is vibrantly distinctive, my dear."

Catelyn complied and shuffled forward until she could reach for Baelish's hand. He held it tight and helped her out of the wheelhouse. Glancing around, she saw that Ser Rodrik and the two soldiers on horseback who were with him were gone.

"Where…?"

Baelish chuckled lowly. "I had them sent ahead. I wanted some time alone with you."

Catelyn blushed and ducked her head. "Petyr!" she hissed.

"Come," the man said again, pulling her by her hand as they edged to the side of a white building. There were a few strips of cloth and clothing hanging from the balconies, but it was quiet, a residential side street near the Red Keep. Catelyn had never visited King's Landing before and had no idea where they were.

"Where are we going?"

"Around the Keep," said Baelish, his voice low as he walked confidently. "Very few use these gardens as they back onto the servants' quarters. No one will see us as we go this way."

Catelyn squeezed Baelish's hand in thanks, letting him lead her around columns and edging around walls until he abruptly stopped. "What? What is it?" she asked, but he turned and hissed at her, "quiet!"

At her glare, a chagrined look passed over his face but it quickly disappeared into annoyance. He said, "Remember what I said about no one using these gardens? It seems that others discovered it."

She missed the gleam in his eyes as he spoke. "So? Should we go around? They don't want to see us, do they?"

"Oh, I'm sure  _you_  wouldn't want them to see you," said Baelish, and curious, Catelyn leaned around him as he pressed his back against the warm white stone of the building, her hands clutching at the edges of her cloaked hood so that it wouldn't accidentally fall forward.

She blinked; she recognized the man: it was Ned. He stood tall, but she could tell he was agitated by the way his shoulders sat (she had learned that mood quickly while in Winterfell). However, there was something tender in his expression as he looked down at the lithe woman in front of him. Catelyn's eyes narrowed as she watched the woman reach out and gently touch Ned's arm.

When her husband made no move to remove the hand or step back, Catelyn's astonishment turned into writhing anger.  _Who is that hussy?_

Baelish's warm breath ghosted her cheek as she stared.

"Ah," he began, and she realized she spoke her question aloud. "That, Cat? That is Lady Granger and her son."

Catelyn's hands clenched against the fabric of her cloak. Her eyes greedily took in the other woman: nowhere near as tall as her, with long dark brown hair in curls compared to Catelyn's straight red; her dress was provocative and different to anything Catelyn had ever seen, even with what the Queen wore with her shoulders bare and her collarbone tanned from the sun.

The boy - for Catelyn couldn't call the spawn of that woman anything else given what she called Snow when he was in her presence at Winterfell - was an interesting mix of the two. He had Ned's height and black hair, but his body shape was lanky and his amber eyes - bouncing between the two adults - had a strange glean to them that Catelyn didn't quite like. There was something off about the boy - something more so than Jon Snow, and it unnerved her. Even Ned's uncharacteristic tenderness toward the woman unnerved Catelyn, as she never received such a warm look from her husband!

"Before I picked you up, Cat, I was at a Small Council meeting," breathed Baelish, his voice hypnotic and low. "Dear Ned Stark disagreed with the content - the killing of the Targaryen girl. He resigned as Hand in a huff. I can only imagine he is planning on returning to Winterfell."

 _That's good, isn't it? He'll be away from that - that_ woman, thought Catelyn, triumphant. Her hopes were dashed when Baelish continued.

"I suppose he is asking Lady Granger and her son to join him," there was a teasing hint to something in his voice that Catelyn couldn't quite discern. "It would only be logical given that he installed them so close to him in the Tower of the Hand earlier."

_No!_

Catelyn's breath hitched.

"He  _wouldn't_ ," she seethed, hands trembling as she drew back from the sight and close to the wall, looking up at Baelish with wide eyes. "I won't allow it! That will  _never_  happen while I am Lady of Winterfell!"

Baelish glanced down at Catelyn, his face unreadable. "The King does like her - and I even believe there are rumours of the Queen doting on the woman. Perhaps she can bridge the King and Queen? Help mend their irreconcilable differences?"

Catelyn's lips thinned. "The Queen doesn't care about anyone."

"She cares about people, Cat," admonished Baelish, reaching out to tap her on the nose with a strange smile. "Only certain golden-haired ones, of course, but she still cares."

Frowning, Catelyn glanced back at the wall, blocking the sight of her husband and the other woman and her son. She rolled her bottom lip into her mouth and began to chew nervously, something she stopped doing as a child.

"But what do I do?" whispered Catelyn, stricken.

"Leave it to me, dearest," he said, soothingly. He reached out, grabbed one of Catelyn's hands, and drew it away from the cloak, brushing his hand inside to flutter against her temper. Catelyn let her eyes close.

"Thank you, Petyr," breathed Catelyn, eyes closed. "But - my babies? Sansa?"

"Yes, your little redhead. She looks just like you did when you were younger, Cat."

Her eyes opened. "Will she be safe? Can you make sure she's safe?"

Baelish nodded slowly. "Of course. I can make sure her and our boy are protected when the time comes."

Catelyn let out a heavy breath of air, letting her cheek rest against Baelish's hand under her cloak. "Good. Do whatever it takes - I want that woman  _gone_. I want her son  _gone_. I never want them near Winterfell."

Baelish's lips curled up into a grin. "With pleasure."

* * *

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baelish is totally fucking with Lysa on the side, just an FYI. Like in canon, he orchestrated Jon Arryn's death and Lysa's flight from King's Landing along with the tension between the Lannisters and Starks.


	7. SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recognizable dialogue from 1x06, "A Golden Crown" and 1x07, "You Win or You Die."

SIX

 

* * *

Renly hunted down Teddy and found him watching Arya's "dancing" lessons with her sword master from Braavos, in a small, breezy annex. Teddy was dressed in his spelled flannel and jeans, wearing what he thought was a neat representation of Medieval fashion but ended up looking like a movie set reject: a shirt with leather vest overtop and matching wrist bracers, and relaxed trousers tucked into leather boots.

Earlier, when Teddy had sought out Hermione before she left to speak to Tobho Mott, she had taken one look at him and laughed until she cried tears of mirth, stuttering out he was a mix between a  _Lord of the Rings_  extra or a historically inaccurate Viking.

Teddy was pouting, nursing a bit of wounded pride and trying to cheer himself up by watching Arya balance on one foot while maintaining a piece of flat wood on her head when Renly glanced at him and went, "Nice shirt!"

Teddy preened, looking down at himself and then back up at his friend. "Do you really think so?"

Renly nodded and sat on the window ledge next to Teddy, watching Arya and Syrio Forel, who eyed the girl's wobbly form critically. "What are they doing?"

"Syrio is teaching Arya balance," replied Teddy quietly, trying not to disturb the young girl.

"Whatever for?"

"Sword fighting," answered Teddy, glancing at his friend. "Ned said Arya likes it, and her brother Jon commissioned her a sword before they left Winterfell. She can't train with Bran and the other pages and squires, because she's a girl, but she'll do it anyway. Better to have someone train her and her be safe than doing it on her own and lopping off a finger."

Renly blanched. "Yes, much better."

Teddy glanced at him from the corner of his eyes and did his best not to let his magic slip from his control - the last thing he wanted was for his hair to turn a curious midnight blue. "What's wrong?"

"Erm," Renly glanced left and right, and then leaned toward Teddy. "Due to - your father's - erm, argument - with my brother, the King has decided to go on his hunt early. I'm leaving in a few hours."

Teddy felt his good mood plummet again. "Oh." He swallowed thickly and mustered up a wobbly smile. "Well, I guess I won't see you then - not unless you come north, anyway-"

"Oh, don't be such a dullard," sighed Renly. "Why don't you come with? How long will it take Lord Stark to get ready to leave, anyway?"

Teddy pursed his lips. "He said by the end of the week…"

"Exactly. We'll be in the Kingswood - you'll be able to return easily if you need to, Ted. We're not going very far," replied Renly, leaning back slightly. He looked imploringly at his friend, making his eyes as wide as possible. "Please say you'll come! I'll be bored without you and Loras along."

"I-" Teddy bit his lip, looking around the room once before sighing. "Alright. As long as Hermione and Ned say it's okay-"

"Excellent!" The cry made Arya stumble back onto two feet, and the glare she sent the other man was deadly. Renly blanched at the sight of it, leaping to his feet and dusting imaginary dirt from his trousers as he muttered, "See you soon, Ted-" and then took off, away from Arya's ire.

"Again!" called out Syrio, and with a huff, Arya turned back to the man and went on her opposite foot.

Teddy watched a bit longer before deciding to go in search of Hermione and Ned. He knew that she had been helping his supposed-Father in his investigation of Jon Arryn's death but so far, they hadn't discovered much other than the previous Hand's squire was killed during the tournament - and all other leads they had were dead ends, or they didn't understand the significance, like Arryn and Stannis Baratheon's visit to Tobho Mott's.

With a quick wave goodbye to Arya (which she tried to return, but quickly lost her balance with her arms windmilling as she concentrated on remaining upright), Teddy meandered down the sand-coloured hallways of the Red Keep, nodding politely to a few nobles who stopped him to inquire about the Hand of the King or his health, or the King himself - which boggled Teddy's mind because he only met Robert Baratheon  _once_.

Upon reaching the Tower of the Hand, Teddy saw a familiar figure and called out, "Jory! Jory!"

The lanky man turned at his name being called, and his face lit up. He turned back to the other Stark men with him - soldiers Ned had brought from Winterfell - and dismissed them. He waited until Teddy was within speaking distance and then asked, "How can I help you, Teddy?"

"Have you seen Ned?" asked Teddy, and then realized his familiarity and corrected it. "I mean, Lord Stark?"

Jory nodded. "He's in his solar. Shall I take you?"

"Yes please," replied Teddy, and he began to follow Jory through the still unfamiliar halls for all that he was rooming there for the past few weeks.

The silence was a bit stifling between them, and Teddy began to fidget with the edges of his sleeves as he kept a half step behind Jory. The other man's eyes would constantly flick back, realize Teddy was behind him, and then he would slow until they were walking equally, side-by-side. Then, Teddy would get nervous, or distracted by something, and fall back; rinse, repeat.

Eventually, they arrived at Ned's solar. Jory gave Teddy a small smile, and knocked on the door, calling, "My Lord? Young Teddy is here to see you."

"Send him in," came the muffled reply from behind the door.

Jory turned the latched and push the door open, allowing Teddy to slip through.

At his entrance, Ned looked up from the multitude of scrolls, papers, and ledgers in front of him. His face, solemn and resigned, twitched to mildly pleased when Teddy stepped in. "Ted! What can I do for you?"

Teddy glanced back at Jory, muttered thanks, and then stepped in as the door was shut behind him. The room was comfortable, bright, and airy with the windows pushed open as far as they could to get a breeze through the room.

"Hey," greeted Teddy, slinking over and falling into a free chair on the other side of Ned's desk.

Ned glanced at Teddy's form, a faint wrinkle of disapproval on him as he replied, sounding odd as he stretched the vowel out, " _Hey_."

Teddy chuckled. "That sounds weird - you using Earth slang."

"It sounds odd to me as well," replied Ned. He put down his stylus and let his hands rest on the arms of his chair. "So. Teddy-"

"Ah, yes. Sorry. Renly came to me and asked if I could join him on the hunt. It seems that erm," Teddy squirmed a bit in his seat, "That the King is annoyed with you and wants to take his anger out by leaving early for his hunt instead of later."

Ned sighed. "Robert always was impatient."

Teddy did not know what to say to that, so he kept quiet. Instead, he reached for a small direwolf pin discarded on the desk and began fiddling with it, turning it repeatedly in his hands. The icon of the wolf calmed in, reminded him of his father's lupine alter ego.

Ned watched him for several long moments before coming to some sort of conclusion. "Hermione - you have this ability - to - ah, teleport-?"

"Apparate," supplied Teddy helpfully looking up from the pin. "It's called Apparation. You appear and disappear instantly."

"How far does this range go?"

"Well," mused Teddy, sitting back and twirling the pin, "You generally need to know where you're going, having been there before to complete the visualization component of the magic. But I know Uncle Harry's managed to blind Apparate before; same as Hermione. For the most part, your magic doesn't want to harm you, so even if you blind Apparate, you'll end up somewhere safe."

"Then if something were to happen, you could make excuses and return on time?" asked Ned.

Teddy nodded. "Sure. An' Hermione can send me a Patronus message too if I'm not back on time. Then I'll just simply pop back."

"Mm," said Ned, eyes trailing over Teddy's shoulder to a spot on the far wall. He then nodded, once, firmly. "Very well. You and Renly have become close friends, and I know that his relationship with his brother is not very good. If you were there to serve as a buffer, that would be kind. Although-" Ned levelled a hard look on his pseudo-son. "Robert will probably take the hunt as an invitation to question you and about your past. Will you be able to handle it or should I send some men with you, too?"

"Nah, I'll be fine, Ned," replied Teddy with a shake of his head.

There was uncertainty in Ned's eyes but he said, quietly, "If you say so, Teddy. You would know better than I in this instance. Very well - not that you need it, but you have my permission."

"Brilliant!" Teddy grinned. "I really appreciate it, Ned-"

"I know," the older man broke it, a bit of a long-suffering sigh to it that only a parent could give. "Just be safe, Teddy. And keep your - erm, talents - hidden, please."

"Yeah, of course," the teen agreed, bobbing his head. He rose to his feet and began walking toward the door.

"Teddy?"

The metamorphmagus turned around, a curious look on his face. "Yes?"

Ned's eyes dipped to his hand. "Are you taking the pin with you?"

Teddy looked down and saw he was still clutching the direwolf pin in his left hand. He hadn't even realized that he had not put it down after their talk. Eyes wide, he looked back at Ned. "Oh. Oh, sorry, Ned - I didn't mean to-"

"Keep it."

Teddy's mouth dropped open. "But- it's  _yours_ …"

"And it should be yours as well, should it not?" there was a knowing glint in Ned's eyes, and Teddy found himself uneasily looking at the sigil again. He knew he was drawn to it because of his true father's werewolf side - but it seemed like a huge cosmic joke that of all people who would pretend to be Eddard Stark's son, it was him - half-wolf, wizard - the perfect blend of Stark and his soul mate Hermione.

Teddy turned the pin over in his hand, his fingers dexterously flipping it repeatedly as his unease grew. The Selwyn Targaryen necklace brought him and Hermione to Westeros and Hermione still didn't know why; with his own inclusion and fabricated ties to the Stark family, Teddy was beginning to regret not taking Divination at Hogwarts now - because things were feeling weighty. What had he said to Uncle Harry? "Far of places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a Prince in disguise"?

Mustering a smile - one that was wobbly even for the Hufflepuff - Teddy grinned at Ned. "Thanks. I'll treasure it."

"See that you do."

From that, he was dismissed but the uneasy feeling lingered long after he left Ned's solar. And if he was honest, that uneasy feeling had always been present. He just became good at blocking it out.

 _Maybe it's time to start listening to my gut,_  he thought, his mouth turned downward in a frown. Still, he pinned the direwolf Stark sigil to his shirt.

* * *

Cersei was, ultimately, a predictable creature. She had her favoured routines, habits, and if someone knew her, they knew her favourite haunts in the Red Keep, her daily plans.

She'd wake up at a leisurely late hour, indulge in a glass of sweet wine and fruit for a light breakfast - which was more like a lunch - in the privacy of her rooms. Perhaps after, depending on the day of the week, she'd visit Myrcella and Tommen who would be with their Maester and Septa. If possible, she'd spend a few hours with Jaime, lounging decadently in her room, naked, spent after lovemaking.

Maybe she'd hold court with her own ladies-in-waiting, torment a few with promises of power or sweet words and then tear them down cruelly because she could. She was Queen! Other times, she'd set up her family dinners and ensure Joffrey was spoiled and she'd dote on her firstborn son, even though he had long outgrown her coddling.

Overall, there were only a few people she'd prefer to spend her time with: her children, Jaime, and perhaps some of her ladies-in-waiting that were less onerous to deal with. Petyr Baelish was  _not_  on her list of people to spend time with; in fact, he was someone she avoided and yet to have his shadow fall over her when she was outside, enjoying her private courtyard, was enough to alarm her.

Of course, she didn't  _show_ that.

"You're in my light, Baelish."

"A thousand apologies, Your Highness," the man's oily voice and easy smile did not throw her off her game as he stepped to the side and allowed the sun's rays once again, to fall on Cersei's lounged form.

Her cousin Lancel, a few feet away and dutifully serving her grapes, figs, and dates, nervously looked between the two.

"You're looking lovely today, Your Grace," the man continued, the smile on his face never reaching his cold green eyes.

Cersei narrowed hers in response. "As opposed to not looking lovely any other day, Lord Baelish?"

The man did not squirm at her rebuke.

"Why are you here?" she finally asked, closing her eyes and soaking up the sun as Lancel hurriedly brought over a shade.

"I heard a rumour that the King is going hunting. Now, he usually does that when the Kingdom is expecting a new bundle of joy," the man said, and although she didn't see it with her eyes closed, the Master of the Coin looked down at her stomach - her flat stomach. "Should I be offering my congratulations?"

"Hardly," retorted Cersei, opening her eyes. "The King hunts whenever it pleases him. He is the King and can do whatever he wants."

"Mmm, yes," Baelish looked thoughtfully at his clean hands and trimmed nails. "While the rest of us continue to do our duties to the realm."

 _Is there a point to this?_  wondered Cersei, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she lazily held out a hand toward her cousin and he quickly handed her a goblet of Arbor Gold.

"Is that the latest casket from the Reach?" asked Baelish, still standing perfectly still.

Curious about the segue into a new topic from King to wine, Cersei allowed the conversation to continue. "It is."

"I'm surprised; with the King's voracious appetites, and love for the wine, one would think it would be completely depleted by now!" the joke was delivered with a mild chortle.

"I'm sure there is still some left if you want some, Baelish," sighed Cersei, turning her head to Lancel. "Cousin - is there a barrel in the larder?"

Lancel, looking between the two, turned his Lannister green eyes on the Queen and muttered, "Ah, yes, Your Grace - there's an untouched barrel from the Tyrells."

"See, Baelish?" Cersei turned her eyes back on the Small Council member. "Enough for you and your whores."

"And the King!"

Cersei's stare was deadened and Baelish this time did shuffle a bit uncomfortably. "Well, perhaps he will take it on his hunting trip. I don't think he's left just yet, has he?"

"He's leaving this afternoon," replied Cersei with a sigh.  _Are we done yet?_

"Ah, that's right!" Baelish's smirk was vicious when Cersei glanced at him. "He's taking the Bull with him, as well as Prince Renly, and, if I heard the rumours correctly, Edward Granger."

Now interested, but still trying to feign disinterest, Cersei went, "Oh?"

"Mmm, now what a shame it would be for the poor young bastard," sighed Baelish dramatically. "Having not grown up here, I doubt he knows how dangerous the Kingswood could be! And if he is in his cups with a barrel of Arbor Gold - why I doubt the young man can hold his alcohol - it would be something quite tragic, don't you think, Your Highness?"

Thoughts whizzing, Cersei barely managed a, "Hmm, yes, quite," as she began to concoct a plan to remove Robert from her life permanently. With a flick of her fingers, she dismissed Baelish. "Yes, thank you for keeping me updated on my husband's plans. Good day, Baelish."

The Master of Coins bowed low, his mockingbird pin glittering in the sun as he stood, but Cersei had already turned away from him. As he walked away, with a smirk on his face, he heard the Queen ask her cousin, "Lancel, what are you doing the next few days…?"

* * *

For a hunt, it was a surprisingly small party attending to the King. Teddy kept at Renly's side, with the white-haired Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy, just behind him. Lancel, the Lannister cousin to the Queen, was serving as the cupbearer for the thirsty King, who was leading the party.

Teddy winced as he saw the King's hand stretch out and make an open/close grip movement, and Lancel scuttled forward, tentatively holding out a wineskin and cup, asking, "More wine, Your Grace?"

The King took the cup, taking a long drink from it so much so that some wine dribbled down his chin and into his beard. Teddy tried not to stare in horrified fascination, instead quickly shifting his eyes to Renly as the King began speaking again.

"What was I saying?" the large man rumbled.

Renly, at his side, rolled his eyes and prompted, "Simpler time."

The King laughed. "It was! It was. You're too young to remember. Wasn't it simpler, Selmy?"

From behind Teddy, Selmy answered. "It was, Your Grace."

"The enemy was right there in the open, vicious as you like, all but sending you a bloody invitation. Nothing like today."

The fondness in the King's voice made Teddy's stomach turn. Wizard battles were chaotic - spellfire and many other things hitting people and buildings, generally creating a loud racket - but rarely were they bloody. Most spells that could kill did so bloodlessly, or the transfiguration of the human body meant most inner organs were warped or altered that the body just shut down without extreme physical markings.

"What d'you think, Teddy?" the King boomed, glancing back at the teen, who startled out of his thoughts.

"I - what - I beg your pardon, Your Grace-"

"How many battles have you been in, Teddy? Isn't it glorious? The feel of crushing another?"

Renly, looking at his friend, dryly broke in instead. "It sounds  _exhilarating_."

Sensing the opportunity, Teddy nodded along. "Exhilarating, yes!"

Robert missed the sarcasm. "Not as exhilarating as those balls and masquerades you like to throw." He then chuckled, a deep throaty sound that carried a hint of bitter nastiness. "You ever fuck a Riverlands girl?"

 _Are you asking me?_ Teddy looked at the King and then around the forested area, they were trampling through, not even keeping quiet for the purpose of a hunt. Despite carrying spears and swords - except Teddy and Lancel - the group was making so much noise they'd like to scare off anything and be stuck in the woods, camping, for days before Robert got bored and wanted to go back to the Red Keep for a whore.

"Once," replied Renly, and Teddy then realized that the elder brother was asking his youngest. "I think."

"You think? I think you'd remember," commented Robert, stopping and looking at his little brother. There was something like disappointment in his face but he quickly schooled it and turned to Teddy. "What about you, eh, Ted? How many girls have you fucked?"

Teddy blushed a furious red. He could feel the heat coming off his face.

Robert chuckled, a warm sound this time. The man lumbered back toward him and slapped a meaty hand on Teddy's shoulder, nearly sending the teenager to the floor with the strength behind it. "Like your father, eh? Holding tight to your honour, heh!"

There was a fleeting, sad downward turn to the King's eyes and mouth before he turned away and continued with his story, but to Teddy, it sounded forced. "Back in our day, you weren't a real man until you'd fucked one girl from each of the Seven Kingdoms and the Riverlands. We used to call it 'making the eight.'"

Renly had not caught his brother's melancholy, and his sarcastic tone leached through. "Those were some lucky girls."

Robert ignored him. "You ever make the eight, Barristan?"

Teddy glanced back as the knight spoke. The man was tall - taller than him - and despite his age, moved with strength and agility that Teddy envied. However, there was a hint of distaste, or discomfort, when the man replied. "I don't believe so, Your Grace."

Robert sighed happily. "Those were the days."

Renly's hands clenched around his spear. "Which days, exactly? The ones where half of Westeros fought the other half and millions died? Or before that, when the Mad King slaughtered women and babies because the voices in his head told him they deserved it?"

" _Renly,_ " whispered Teddy, eyes wide. His friend didn't so much as glance at him; Teddy felt his stomach plummet as the young Prince continued to speak.

"Or way before that, when dragons burned whole cities to the ground?"

The small party stopped, and Robert turned to look at his brother. There was something hard, dead in his eyes as he spoke, his voice low. "Easy, boy. You might be my brother, but you're speaking to the king."

But it seemed that Renly was past care, spitting out the words. "I suppose it was all rather heroic - if you were drunk enough and had some poor Riverlands whore to shove your prick inside and make the eight!"

He threw down his spear, leaving the other three in silence except for the natural sounds of birds chirping and the wind rustling through the leaves.

Robert's mouth had unhinged, like he had never expected Renly to speak in such a manner toward him, eyes wide and unblinking. Selmy shifted uncomfortably, his eyes trailing after Renly as the young man stomped down the path in the way that they had come, before turning to his King.

Lancel, on the other hand, nervously asked, "More wine, Your Grace?"

"Oh, piss off, Lancel," sighed Teddy, running a hand through his unruly black hair, still maintaining his mother's natural looks and heritage. Teddy turned resignedly to the King. "Should I go after him and make sure he doesn't get lost?"

Slowly, Robert's face shifted from shocked to neutral, but there was something still calculating behind his eyes. "Aye." His eyes turned from the path to Teddy, looking him up and down. "You're a good lad, Teddy. A good friend to Renly."

Teddy blinked in surprise. "I - oh - um - thank you?"

Robert snorted, and his neutral tone shifted quickly again as the man spoke. "Well - go on, then. Best find the little prick before he is staked on a branch or something. We'll meet you ahead at the watering hole."

Teddy waited a few moments as the party moved ahead, before turning around and following Renly's bitter scent. The young Prince hadn't gone very far - enough to be out of hearing and sight, but close enough to catch up when he was ready. Teddy found him perched on a low trunk that ran horizontal and then vertically down, a natural seat that Renly was taking advantage of.

The Baratheon looked up morosely as Teddy approached. "You know, he hates Loras."

"The King?"

Renly nodded. "Because he's a Tyrell. And they were on the opposite side during the war. They sided with Aerys Targaryen."

Teddy thought back to his rough, quick lessons of Westerosi nobility. "If he truly hated Mace Tyrell, I'm sure the King would've struck them down and removed them from their position of a Great House."

Renly shrugged. "It wouldn't matter. I just hate it - hate it all. I hate hearing about the Rebellion, about 'making the eight'-" he made a face "-and everything being better back then. It wasn't better! All the war did was change people."

Teddy quietly moved to sit next to Renly, letting him vent.

"I was four when your father broke the siege Mace Tyrell had on Storm's End," he said quietly, staring at the ground between his feet, seeing something only he could. "I remember a lot of that time. I remember being hungry, all the time. I remember Stannis being stressed, the lines on his face. I remember - I think I remember - a-a man."

His face scrunched up. "An onion? Anyway. I remember how  _bad_  it was, Teddy. I remember thinking that today, today was the die I could die.  _And I was only four years old._ "

He turned to his friend, his blue eyes haunted. "Can you imagine what it must be like? To acknowledge and realize you might die and you can't do anything to stop it?"

Teddy swallowed and turned away.  _Did my parents know? Did dad think that every time he went to fight for the Order? Did mum, every time she put on her Auror robes?_

"After… after the war - it made me realize something," continued Renly, looking back at the forest floor. "It made me realize that I should live each day to its fullest. Like it was my last and have no regrets."

" _Carpe diem_ ," muttered Teddy, the Latin phrase coming to mind.

"What?" Renly stared at Teddy, completely confused and broken from his melancholy. He then shook his head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter, does it? I enjoy life. I enjoy  _my_  life. Why shouldn't I? I'm alive, aren't I?" He sighed. "And so, so many others are dead. All thanks to that war. And the stupidity of others and their actions in war."

"Is that why you hate it when your brother mentions the past?" asked Teddy quietly. "Because it reminds you of - of all that?"

"He won't let it go," sighed Renly, leaning back a bit and hooking his hands around his knee to counter his weight. "He lives in the past, and relishes in it, too. He won't move forward into the here and now because it's easier for him to understand things. Targaryens, bad; Starks, good. Rhaegar, evil; Lyanna, perfection."

Renly for silent for a bit before shaking his head and exclaiming, "Gods! He becomes so irrational when the Targaryens are mentioned." He looked at Teddy. "You know, the reason why he's on this hunt was because your father said he wouldn't condone the killing of the Targaryen kill because she is a child. And Robert lost it."

Teddy looked away. "I don't see how  _anyone_  could allow for a child to be killed," he muttered.

Renly sighed. "I agree. And I agreed with Lord Stark, too. But Robert - he just looked at me like I betrayed him. Both he and Stannis do, all the time. Like I'm skirting my duty as a Baratheon, as a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms."

He thumped a closed fist against the tree trunk and it shook underneath the two men. "But I'm just doing my duty differently - can't they see that? That I'm reaching out to people, getting to know them, making them realize that they're significant, that they have meaning? That someone will  _remember_  them if they die tomorrow?"

"That's really kind of you, Renly," said Teddy quietly, feeling his heart swell for his friend.  _You'd make a good Hufflepuff, I think_.

Two spots of red appeared on Renly's cheeks. He looked down bashfully and cleared his throat. "Thank you, Ted."

They were silent a bit longer and then Renly exhaled loudly. His voice was plaintive when he spoke and wobbled slightly with repressed emotion.

"Why can't Robert see that? Why can't he see that I'm a Baratheon, too? That I have the fury?" he scoffed. " _Ours is the Fury_ , but mine happens to be about the injustice those suffered previously during the war."

"It's admirable," replied Teddy, "But people who fight - like you said, they often get stuck in one particular mindset. It's hard to get out of that." As he spoke, he thought back at the taciturn, bitter portrait of a Headmaster who lasted only a year, his sneer and dark eyes and everything the man had done in both wizarding wars. Teddy thought of the damage that caused the man.

"I don't want to fight, Teddy," confessed Renly. "But with how Robert is? I fear it will happen again … and I'm not sure what side I would come down on."

Teddy bit his lip as he watched Renly scrub his face with his hands, physically trying to wipe away his fear and shame. The older man slipped from the perch and forced joviality into his voice. "Well, come on then! Let's return. I'm sure we're missing out on the fun."

"Sure." Teddy said nothing else, following Renly as the two followed the well-marked trail that Robert, Selmy, and Lancel had made.

The King barely spared them a glance at their return, his face rosy, and his nose and cheeks red from the wine he consumed. Selmy nodded at them, but Lancel remained skittish and frightful, constantly asking the king is he wanted more wine and then found himself well out of anyone's reach as he kept to the edges of the group as the afternoon wore on.

"Where's the little bugger?" muttered Robert darkly, his body lumbering through the underbrush, spear held aloft in his other hand.

"Your Highness, really-" anything Selmy was going to say was cut off as Robert let out a mighty snort, beady eyes staring straight into the foliage ahead of them, a thick tangle of bushes, vines, and tall grass, framed by skinny trees with silver bark.

"Stand back Selmy, you old woman," the King chastised. "I'll take down the bastard!"

There was a snort and some bushes trembled, and then the King let out a mighty "ah ha!" and threw himself forward, disappearing through the leaves and bushes. Selmy cursed and followed after him. Lancel froze for a single, panicked moment, and then tossed the wine carafe away and went after the two, leaving Renly and Teddy behind.

"Well?" asked Renly, turning to his friend and raising a single eyebrow. His voice was bitter. "Shall we follow them?"

"Erm... " Teddy swallowed thickly at the idea of the danger ahead, but another part, his wolfish side, perked up at the idea of the hunt. His magic thrummed in his veins and his adrenaline spiked. "Yeah, alright, then. Let's go!"

Despite not having any weapons beyond a spear that Teddy had no idea how to use, he felt invigorated, breathless even as he kept pace with Renly, both of them stumbling through the brush and tripping over exposed roots and pushing against sticky leaves, trying to trace the footsteps Robert, Selmy, and Lancel made.

Teddy's nose helped - although he would never tell Renly that - and he followed the stench of sour wine and sweat, a scent he associated with the older king. The man smelled of that and was releasing other pheromones and hormones into the air: excitement, anticipation, bloodlust, and even Teddy was getting swept up in everything, feeling his canines grow a bit longer in response, his blood pumping quickly through his body and his magic tingling, ready at his fingertips-

A loud scream rent through the air followed quickly by, "YOUR GRACE!"

Teddy dropped his spear in shock as all of Robert's scent was quickly overtaken by the powerful scent of blood and piss; his face paled and Renly dashed forward, pushing aside a branch that swung back and snapped at Teddy.

"Robert?!"

The two burst through the leaves to see Selmy hacking into a large boar viciously, the creature listing to the side and snorting loudly, still trying to move away from the older guard despite the heavy spear thrust through its side, dragging through the dirt.

Lancel was off to the side, next to the fallen form of the King.

There was blood everywhere: on the boar, its tusk, on Robert, on Lancel. Only Selmy and his white cloak seemed spotless in comparison, despite it dragging through the muck and ground. Eventually, the older man stopped hacking the boar, delivering slashes and thrusts until it gave a final moan and collapsed on its side, unmoving.

Teddy took in the scene with his mouth open; for all that, he complained to Harry about wanting to experience life and adventure the way he, Ron and Hermione had when they were teenagers, he was woefully unprepared for how bloody and dangerous it would be.

Renly, kneeling at his brother's side, was green to the face as he stared down at his stomach, where a gaping hole had torn into the man's side. A few of his intestines were spilling out, and the ground beneath him was a muddy pool of blood and dirt. A sheen of sweat on the King's pale face and his own panting breaths were the only inclination that the man was aware of what happened.

"Stop fussing, stop fussing," the king was muttering to his brother.

" _Robert_ ," moaned Renly, "We need to get you to a Maester!"

"All the attendants are further back," said a frustrated Selmy. "Lancel can go and tell them what happened-"

There was a startled squeak, and the three turned to look at the blond Lannister only to watch as his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the ground in a dead faint.

With disgust, Selmy shook his head. "Green boy," he muttered. "No matter. I will go - Prince Renly, you  _must_  stay and keep the King safe. Can you do this?"

"I won't keep the King safe," said Renly, looking up and at Selmy from his kneeling position. "I'll keep  _my brother_  safe."

A flash of approval on Selmy's face disappeared as quickly as it came, and the man nodded once before disappearing the way they had come from, through the thicket of bushes and trees until his gleaming white cloak was swallowed by the green of the Kingswood.

"Robert, Robert," whispered Renly, looking at his brother, tears in his eyes, "Stay strong. For the Seven, stay  _strong_."

The King closed his eyes, a grimace of pain rippling across his face.

Renly looked up at Teddy, tearstained. The wizard felt helpless standing around like a bum. "Teddy - Ted - what do I do?"

Swallowing, Teddy stepped forward until he was next to Renly and then sank to his haunches, balancing perfectly. His eyes darted from Renly's pale and wet face to the King's pallid face, and then his wound, still bubbling blood with every breath he took.

"Okay," muttered the wizard, blinking furiously. "Okay. First - you need to put pressure on the wound so we stop the bleeding, okay?"

Renly, in shock, nodded and tentatively put his hands over the wound, distaste across his face as he did so.

"Harder, Renly! You gotta push down!"

Choking back a sob, the young Prince did so, and as he did, Robert groaned. "I-I can't! I'm  _hurting_ him, Ted!"

"It's only for a bit longer," the wizard promised. He leaned forward and caught Renly's eyes. "Do you trust me?"

"What? Of course. Of course, I do!" the other man stuttered. "Why?"

Teddy nervously bit his lower lip and said, "I hope you don't hate me after this."

"After-  _what?_  Teddy?"

The young Hufflepuff slipped his wand from his holster and spoke, clearly, " _Expecto Patronum_ ," and watched as a silver mist erupted from his wand and formed a silvery wolf, sitting on its haunches and mimicking Teddy's pose perfectly. Its tongue lolled from the side of its mouth as it cocked its head.

"Hey Moony," whispered Teddy while Renly's eyes grew wide at his side, glancing between Teddy, his wand, and the wolf. "I need you to take a message to Hermione for me."

The wolf gave a silent bark of understanding, standing on its legs.

Teddy pursed his lips, thinking hard of what he wanted to say, and then tapped his wand on the nose of his wolf, which snorted. It then bobbed its head and turned, its tail flicking at its caster as he sped through the leaves and disappeared far quickly that Selmy had.

"What - what was that?" whispered Renly through bloodless lips.

"Never mind," replied Teddy. "I'm going to send you and Robert back to the Red Keep, okay?"

" _How_?" asked Renly. "And we need to be here for when Ser Barristan returns with a Maester!"

"Don't worry about the how," replied Teddy, his voice straining under his nerves, making it crack, "And they'll find the King - only it won't be him. It'll be me."

Renly blinked. "What?"

"Renly - I - you said you trusted me," the younger Hufflepuff stared at his friend. "Please. Please don't ask questions - not now. Please trust me. I swear I'm trying to save his life."

Slowly, as Renly held Teddy's amber eyes in his blue ones, he nodded. As he did so, he watched as Teddy's face shifted, gaining more weight and roundness, his curly black hair morphed into longer shades of brown and he grew a bushy beard, and his eyes went from amber to blue - the exact shade of Renly's.

Then his body changed, as did his clothes as he waved his stick. He grew fatter at the middle, with a rounded stomach and broader shoulders; his avant-garde fashion became an exact replica of the King's: a brown-red leather tunic on top of a matching cotton quilted undershirt and a split overcoat that revealed tanned trousers and brown leather boots.

A quick glance between the two - the King's prone body, spilling blood, and the towering form of Teddy-who-was-not - made Renly realize that they were identical.

"What - What  _are_  you?" he whispered as the other man waved his stick once more -  _a wand?_  thought Renly, in shock - and soon he had a matching hole spilling blood, except it didn't stink like Robert's did. And, Teddy was remaining upright and seem not to be in pain.

"I'm-" he bit his lip, and it was Teddy's voice that came from his brother's body. Renly nearly reeled back in confusion. "I'm a wizard."

"Um. Okay. Let's go with that." The bewildered Prince looked down at his brother. "Now what?"

"I'm going to pretend to be him; I'll need you to tell Hermione this, okay? So she can get to me before Pycelle or something else does and we can swap," explained Teddy, crouching next to Renly. "I'm going to send you both to her. She can fix him."

"She can save him?" that was all Renly wanted to hear. He might hate his brother - most of the time - but he was family.

Teddy looked indecisive for a moment - an odd look on his brother's face - but gave a quick bob to his head. "I hope so. But you need to go now."

"What will you tell Selmy?"

"That you ran after him, and got sick. You can stumble into the Keep at a later time, say you dodged everyone returning," Teddy shrugged his shoulders. "You can figure something out, I'm sure."

"I - Ted-"

"Hang on, Renly," said Teddy, tapping his stick - wand - on the antlers of his Baratheon pin holding his overcoat shut. "This is going to be a wild ride, and make sure you're holding onto the King."

Renly's hands, already soaked with his brother's blood, moved to clutch at the sleeve of his coat. "I - Teddy - wait -"

"No time," the other man replied. "Hufflepuff."

" _What_ -" but anything Renly was going to say was cut off as the portkey whisked the man through space and deposited him in Hermione's bedroom in the Red Keep.

In the silence of the clearing, Teddy took a moment to breathe deeply, look around, and asked, "What did I just agree to do?" as he slowly positioned himself on the ground where Robert had laid, arranging his arms and legs just so and grimacing at the sticky feeling of blood cooling and pooling under his back.

"Ugh," he muttered, closing his eyes.

In the distance, he heard shouts and the sound of many feet stomping their way toward him.  _Time for the performance of my life_ , he thought, allowing himself to fall limp just as Selmy's voice called, "Your Grace! Your Grace!"  _The things I do, honestly…!_

* * *

With Teddy gone on the hunt alongside Renly, Ned realized he could no longer put off telling Sansa, Arya, and Bran the plan to head back to Winterfell once the older teen returned. There had already been quiet packing and cleaning (mostly to look like reorganization) by his servants; Jory, however, knew the full plan, as did Hermione.

Whether or not his children would be receptive to the idea of Teddy and Hermione joining them North, however, was another topic. Ned felt himself wince as he stepped into the solar, where Sansa was quietly working on her needlepoint and Bran reading something, while Arya pouted, half-hanging off the armchair as she lounged, bored without her dancing lessons.

Not wanting to shy from the topic, as soon as he felt their eyes on him, Ned stated, "I'm sending you all back to Winterfell."

" _What_!"

"What about Joffrey?"

" _Why?_ "

"Did I do something wrong, Father?"

Ned fought to urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Listen-"

"Are you dying? Is that why you're sending us home?" Sansa asked dramatically, dropping her needlepoint and bringing her hands to her chest.

Ned stared at his eldest daughter. "What? No."

"Please, Father," begged Bran, standing from the chairs by the fireplace and taking a few steps forward, one hand tightly clutching his book. "Please don't - I'll study harder-!"

"You can't! I've got my lessons with Syrio," cried Arya, standing as well. "I'm finally getting good."

Ned's head swivelled as he looked from one child to another as they began to crowd around him, each staring up at him with a variety of wide eyes: grey, blue, and grey-green. "This isn't a punishment. I want you back in Winterfell for your own safety-"

Arya's eyes grew wider and she stood on her tiptoes as she urged, "Can we take Syrio back with us?"

At her side, Sansa sneered, "Who cares about your stupid dancing teacher? I can't go. I'm supposed to marry Prince Joffrey!" Her eyes turned dreamy and unfocused as she continued. "I love him and I'm meant to be his queen - and have his babies."

Both Arya and Bran had matching looks of disgust on their faces and it was Bran, of all his children, who muttered, "Seven hells…!"

Ned gapped, wondering how he lost control of the situation so quickly. Eventually, he turned back to Sansa and said, quietly, firmly, "When you're old enough, I'll make you a match with someone who's worthy of you, someone who's brave and gentle and strong-"

Sansa stamped her foot. "I don't want someone brave and gentle and strong! I want him! He'll be the greatest king that ever was, a golden lion, and I'll give him sons with beautiful blond hair."

Bran rolled his eyes. "The lion's not his sigil, Sansa. He's a stag, like his father."

"He is not!" protested Sansa, turning to face her little brother, glaring at him. "He's nothing like that old drunk king-"

"Better an old drink king than a cowardly lion," muttered Arya, and then Sansa shrieked and the two were clawing at each other, pulling on their shirts and Bran was shouting something.

Ned sighed. "Stop! Stop this! Go on, children. Get your septa and start packing your things!"

" _Wait!"_

" _Come_ on _, Sansa."_

" _But it's not_ fair _!"_

The three different voices, all whining, quickly disappeared as Arya and Bran led the way out of the solar and to their individual rooms. At the door, Jory hid an amused smile as he turned his face when Ned looked at him.

"Jory," he said, his voice strained.

"My Lord?"

Ned stared hard at him. "Do yourself a favour and pray to the Old Gods every day that you don't have daughters."

Jory's amusement grew and his mouth twitched. "I'll keep that in mind, my Lord."

With a sigh, Ned turned back to the empty room, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the mess the children had left behind. As his eyes trailed over Sansa's pristine needlepoint, her words echoed:  _I'll give him sons with beautiful blond hair._

_Sons… beautiful blond hair…_

Ned's frown deepened and he turned, leaving the room and making his way to his solar. His steps were light, a steady pace that slowly increased as the words rang through his head.

_Beautiful, blond hair…_

_Blond hair…_

He was nearly running by the time he slammed his solar door open, rushing to his desk where a book of lineages waited for him; it was the small book that Jon Arryn had asked Pycelle for before his death. There, Ned frantically threw the hard leather cover open and began flipping through the early pages for the Great House of Baratheon.

Then, he began reading. "Lord Orys Baratheon, black of hair; Axel Baratheon, black of hair; Lyonel Baratheon, black of hair; Steffon Baratheon, black of hair; Robert Baratheon, black of hair; Joffrey Baratheon, golden-haired."

_Ned?_

Hermione's voice echoed through their mental bond, forged from their soul mark. He hadn't heard her voice in  _decades_  and it nearly had him fumble and drop the book.

He looked up and around the room, thinking hard and projecting,  _Hermione?_  along the string that tied them together.

_Are you alright? Your thoughts are very loud._

Ned blinked, looking down at the last line of the lineage he had just read and shuddered.  _I - no. May I come to you?_

A positive thrum returned to him along their connection, as well as an image of Hermione's room that Renly set her up in. Ned slammed the book shut and hoisted it under his arm as he marched toward his soul mate.

Without any guards outside her quarters, Ned was able to sneak stealthily in. Hermione was in the living area of her set of rooms - now, emptier without Teddy - at a writing desk she had transfigured from something else. Its top was covered in half-open texts, scrolls held down with makeshift paperweights, and a quill scribbling notes on its own, which Ned goggled at.

Hermione herself was bent standing over her desk, a thoughtful finger tapping on her mouth with her eyes narrowed at whatever the quill was recording for her. She did not look up when Ned slipped through from a narrow crack between the door and frame.

"Hermione."

At the strain in Ned's voice, the witch looked up. "What's happened?"

Ned swallowed thickly and tried to find the words. He opened his mouth a few times, eyes darting around the room as horror stole over him. With everyone's fascination with Hermione, it was likely she was being watched - or, at minimum, listened to; it was not safe to speak aloud his fears.

Instead, Ned closed his eyes and sent mentally to her:  _The royal children are not Robert's._

Hermione's eyes narrowed.  _Then whose are they?_

 _The Queen's,_  began Ned, ignoring Hermione's slight  _duh_  look; she did have enough presence to not add anything until Ned finished, reluctantly,  _and her brother's, I think. Ser Jaime._

"How?" she asked aloud.

The look Ned sent her was the  _duh_  one this time, and Hermione scoffed, "I know how babies are made, Ned, Merlin. I meant how did you come to that conclusion?"

Wordlessly, he handed her the book tucked under his arm and opened it to the appropriate page. Between them, Hermione ran a finger down the spidery writings of Maesters long dead until the recent writing of Pycelle, noting the royal births - and their hair colour.

A frown tugged at Hermione's lips. "Then - the boy? At -"

Ned nodded, stopping her. "He must be Robert's."

"Still." Hermione pursed her lips. "That doesn't mean that they are  _his_  - any blond-"

Ned shook his head.  _No, Hermione. I can_ feel _it._

They stood in silence for several long moments, the light from the afternoon fading and stretching long shadows across the room.

Finally, Hermione quietly asked, "What are you going to do about it?"

"I - don't know," muttered Ned, just as quietly, looking anywhere but at the book on her desk. The knowledge that Jon Arryn was killed for this - that Stannis fled the city for this - made his chest hurt. He was in danger; worst of all, his  _children_  were in danger. Hermione and Teddy were in danger.

"I should never have come south," he finally said, his voice grave.

"Ned…"

A sudden streak of something silver burst through the window, passing through the glass panes effortlessly without breaking them and coming to a halt in front of Hermione. Ned startled, taking an aborted half-step toward her - to protect, to shield, he wasn't sure - but Hermione ignored him and focused her attention on what Ned could now see took the form of a glowing, silver wolf.

"Hermione," came Teddy's voice from it, strained and panicked, "There's been a bit of an accident. I hope you're in your room because you're about to have visitors."

"What-?" Ned's question broke off as a loud, muffled thud came from Hermione's bedroom, behind the closed door.

Curious, Hermione and Ned shared a wary glance as the silver-wolf faded. She slipped her wand from her grasp and together, they eased toward the bedroom. Hermione stood behind Ned, her wand at eye level and aimed over his shoulder.

"One," he mouthed.

She nodded.

"Two, three-"

He nudged the bedroom door open and they burst into her bedroom, only to stop and stare in shock. Renly looked up from the floor, his entire front covered in glistening blood that splattered up his neck and painted his hands, which were pressed to his elder brother's stomach, red.

"Help me," he moaned, eyes wide. "Help Robert!"

"Oh, Gods, Robert!" Ned dashed forward, falling to his knees. His friend was crumpled on the floor, a sheen of sweat coating his very pale face. His eyes were glassy when they opened, and he blatantly ignored the spilled guts and bloody wound further down his body when he spoke.

"It's only a flesh wound, Ned, stop fretting like a Septa."

Renly stared at his brother for a moment and then turned, throwing up in the corner of the room.

"Bother," muttered Hermione, and then she swished her wand, vanishing the mess. "Let's get him on the bed."

Robert, completely out of it, wriggled his thick eyebrows. "Oi, your woman wants me on the bed, Ned!"

"Fuck off, Robert," muttered Ned, his mouth a tight line as he stepped back and watched as Hermione pointed her wand at the larger man, levitating him to her bed. As he floated, Robert looked around in a daze.

"Am I dead? I'm already dead. I must be. I'm floating!"

Renly, from the corner of the room where he collapsed into a ball of knees and elbows, gripping his short hair tightly, looked up at Hermione in shock and awe. "What  _are_  you? And Teddy?"

Hermione spared him a quick glance but didn't speak. Instead, she summoned her beaded bag from the living area and tossed it at Ned. He caught it against his chest, holding it there tightly and then looking down at it before back at Hermione. She sighed. "Find any potions in there, Ned. Dump them out - all of them. I have some things that can help, like a Blood Replenishing."

Ned nodded and withdrew to Renly's side, hauling the other man to his feet first and then pointed him towards an armchair near the hearth. Renly all but collapsed into it, but he kept his eyes on Hermione and she waved her wand and vanished the King's coat and tunic, revealing the extent the boar's tusk had done.

Renly found his mouth moving on its own, even as his eyes drifted to Ned and bulged as he watched the man stick his entire arm into a too-small bag. "We were hunting a boar-"

"S'my fault. Too much wine, missed my thrust," slurred Robert from the bed, his eyes unfocused as Hermione began siphoning the blood from him and murmuring something against the wound with her wand tip tracing the jagged hole.

"Missed your trust? That must have been a first," quipped Hermione, causing the three men in the room to stare at her.

Then, Robert started to laugh, although it quickly turned into pained chuckles. "Ow - ow - Ned - Ned, your soul mate- she's brilliant -"

Ned rolled his eyes and stepped around from where he stood near Renly, handing over several bottles of different colours to Hermione. "Clever. It's not like you grew up around men, at all."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, dear," replied Hermione, taking the bottles. "Oh, good! You remembered which was which."

"Not that difficult; red was Blood Replenishing, I remembered that from when you were in the Hospital Wing," answered Ned with a modest shrug. "And the others - I think the blue is Dreamless Sleep? You had to take that often."

"Mm," replied Hermione, eyes moving between the bottles and plucking a few - the red, a dark, forest green, and a silver one with grey flecks in it.

"W'shat?" asked Robert, trying to look at the bottles as Hermione moved to sit near his shoulders.

"Potions to help heal you," the witch replied instead.

"But it stinks. It stinks like death," replied Robert, confusion in his voice. That turned to annoyance quickly. "Don't think I can't smell it!"

"Well, I can clean you, too," answered Hermione, "But you won't be dying today."

"He won't?" asked a hopeful Renly, standing from the chair as he took a few trembling steps forward.

Hermione shook her head, and then shook the red bottle. "What do you say?"

Robert's eyes slid from the bottles in Hermione's grasp to Ned, who nodded. He then sighed and tilted his head back, an invitation for Hermione to pour the magical potions down his throat. He gagged at the taste of the blood replenishing, but hummed contentedly at the minty forest green, and licked his lips at the silver. Then, Hermione gave him a tiny sip of the Dreamless Sleep.

Quickly, Robert eased into unconsciousness. The grimace of pain that he wore throughout since arriving eased in sleep.

Once he was sure his friend as asleep, Ned turned to Hermione and asked, gravely, "How bad is it?"

"Bad," the woman replied.

Renly let out a noise. "But you said he wouldn't die!"

"Today, Renly," replied a tired Hermione. "I've healed what I can, but that - boar, was it? - gored him deeply. My beaded bag has some of the necessary potions in it to help him, but I didn't pack an infirmary's worth. I can only do so much. He needs time now; he is stable but that doesn't mean he will survive. He needs time to heal."

Renly made a low noise, and Ned's own face grew solemn as he stared at his friend, who was breathing a bit easier.

"Renly? Where's Teddy?" asked Hermione suddenly, standing up from the King's side. "If you and the King are here-"

"He's… he's pretending to be my brother?" the explanation came out more as a question as Renly's voice rose at the end. "He looks like him?"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "What did he say?"

"That - that you'd save Robert, and that there would be a swap later?"

Ned glanced at Hermione. "It seems that Teddy had a plan in mind. Once he arrives, with Ser Selmy and the others, we'll have to find a way to get Robert from your room into the King's chambers."

"Easily done with a portkey, Ned," shrugged Hermione. "It'll just be a matter of sleight of hand to keep people from looking at the King when it happens." She made a face. "Or, at Teddy."

"But-" Renly trailed off and looked between her and Ned. "What about the Queen? His duties as King? People will see him as weak and try to assassinate him-"

"No one will be assassinating the king," interrupted Ned.

"She will! She won't care. Give me an hour and I can put a hundred swords at your command-"

Ned barely spared Renly a glance. "What would I do with a hundred more swords?"

"Strike! Tonight, while the castle sleeps," explained Renly, his voice passionate as he stepped closer to the two and the bed. He looked at his brother, something flashing across his face that was half love, half fear. "We must get Joffrey away from his mother and into our custody. He who holds the king holds the kingdom. Every moment you delay gives Cersei another moment to prepare!"

"Joffrey won't be named King," said Ned, quietly. He glanced at Hermione, who sighed and flicked her hands - a buzzing noise encased them as Renly looked around nervously. Once she nodded, Ned turned back to Renly and said, "Joffrey is a Waters - he's not Robert's son."

Renly physically stumbled back. "What?"

"He's the product of incest between the Queen and her brother. And I wager that the other children are as well."

" _Allegedly,_ " muttered Hermione. "It still could be any other blond, you know."

Ned refused to look at Hermione. "So: Stannis."

"What about Stannis?" asked a confused Renly. "Do you mean to save the children and the Seven Kingdoms from Cersei by delivering them to Stannis? You have odd notions about protecting the realm…"

"He would be King-"

Renly stared at Ned for a long moment. "This isn't about the bloody line of succession, Ned!"

Ned glowered. "Renly-"

"I'm confused," broke in Hermione, looking at the two men in her room, glaring at one another. "What does Stannis have to do with Robert being King and why is Renly upset about it?"

"Stannis is Robert's younger brother and next in line for the throne," explained Ned, his voice tight. "Renly seems to think that if we kidnap Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, and deliver them to Stannis, things wouldn't go well."

"Of course they won't!" retorted Renly. "We all know what Stannis is. He inspires no love or loyalty. He's not a king."

"But he's  _next in line_ -" there was frustrated in Ned's voice even as Renly spoke over him.

"That didn't matter when you rebelled against the Mad King and it shouldn't matter now!" he hotly replied. "What's best for the Kingdoms? What's best for the people we rule?"

Confusion was writ on Ned's face. "Stannis is your older brother. Stannis is a commander. He's led men into war twice. He destroyed the Greyjoy fleet-"

Renly waved off Ned's comment and replied, "Yes, he's a good soldier. Everyone knows that. So was Robert." Then he paused and stared hard at Ned. "But tell me something: do you still believe good soldiers make good kings?"

Ned floundered and looked to Hermione. She shrugged, and offered, "I don't know a lot about Westeros, Ned, but Renly has a point. Soldiers are followers, not leaders. And someone who is good at killing, isn't very good at keeping the peace. It's not that they're a bad person, but rather they don't know anything different."

There was something lost in Ned's expression as his eyes moved from Hermione to Robert. They were pained as he said, quietly, "I will not dishonor myself by shedding further blood in these halls and dragging frightened children from their beds."

"Then we leave them alone," answered Hermione, just as quietly before Renly could. She sent him a glare, and he snapped his mouth shut.

"Very well," said Ned, turning back to Hermione. "Can Robert be safely moved?"

Hermione frowned. "Well, sure, I guess - maybe Apparation or portkey would be best over horse and buggy, but-"

"He needs to be somewhere safe," interrupted Ned, staring hard at Hermione. "Especially after what we just discussed."

Hermione's frown deepened.

"They'll look for him in the Stormlands first if they think he's alive," continued Ned. He turned to Renly. "Would Mace Tyrell take the King? Could he keep him secret and safe?"

"I -" Renly blinked at stared at Ned, completely taken aback at what the man was saying and how quickly he dismissed the succession issues. "I - yes. Yes, I believe so."

"Believe or know? Your brother's life depends on this."

Renly straightened. "He would. He  _will_."

Ned stared hard at him for a moment and then said, "Good." He turned to address Hermione and Renly together. "I will send a man to sail to Dragonstone tonight. I will give Stannis a letter regarding the truth about Joffrey and Tommen. That the king has no trueborn sons."

"And then what?" asked Hermione, making a bit of a face. "What good does that do?"

"In case something happens to us," said Ned, looking at her. "Renly will leave immediately to Highgarden, ready for when Robert arrives. The Tyrells will keep the King safe. But the realm  _must_  know."

"It'll cause chaos," murmured Renly, looking at Ned from under hooded lids. "We will probably go to war with the Lannisters if that's the case."

Ned shook his head. "I'm sure Cersei can be persuaded otherwise."

Even Hermione looked at Ned skeptically. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid, Ned. We're at a tipping point, and one wrong move will send everything crashing down."

The Stark of Winterfell offered Hermione a small smile. "I won't. I promise, Hermione - my children are here. I won't endanger them. But I also can't let this go without trying."

Renly made an ugly noise and turned away.

Hermione sighed. "Oh, Ned. I really hope you know what you're doing."

Ned mustered a smile for her and turned back to keep watch over his oldest friend.  _Me too,_  he sent her over their bond.  _Me too._

* * *

Hours later, Ned was recounting his meeting with Cersei to Hermione as she stood in her bedroom, waving her wand and vanishing the bloody sheets, siphoning the blood with a loud sucking noise until it was flicked toward the chamber pot.

"-I don't understand how she could've thought that about me, Hermione," said Ned, sighing and heavily sitting in an armchair. He cradled his head in his heads, arms propped up on his knees. "To think I would have wanted the Iron Throne at all? Calling that a mistake?"

Hermione placed her wand in her arm holster, effectively turning it invisible, and then spun to face Ned. "She covets power. And people, who want power, don't understand how others  _don't_."

Ned raised his head. "Then I will never understand her. I have never wanted power - I never wanted to be Lord Stark after my father and Brandon. I'm a simple man, Hermione - I just want my family and live my life."

"Oh, Ned," sighed Hermione, crossing the distance between them until she sank to her knees at his side. "And that makes you the best kind of man that there is: someone who doesn't  _want_  things. That makes you the best kind of leader: because you  _care_."

"Why can't others see that?" he muttered, glancing away. "Catelyn sees only the Lord Paramount of the North; even my children see me as an authority; the other Northern lords look up to me. To them, I'm Lord Stark - why can't I just be Ned?"

"You are to me," replied Hermione, reaching out and taking his hands in hers, drawing his eyes to her instead. "You always have."

Ned sighed.

"You're a good man, Eddard Stark," finished Hermione, cupping Ned's cheek and holding his gaze until his lips slowly twitched up into a smile.

"Thank you," he said, a few moments later.

Hermione nodded and then stood, moving toward the bed again where her open beaded bag had a few gauzy dresses spilling from its open mouth. She flicked her wand at the wardrobe and Ned watched for a few moments as the clothing Renly commissioned for her, and then that she later bought for herself, began flying from the wooden piece into the bag.

"That will never cease to amaze me," said Ned, finally letting some tension escape his frame as he leaned back in the chair.

"Magic is wondrous," agreed Hermione, glancing back at him and grinning.

"How is Teddy?" asked Ned.

"Shaken up," she replied, thinking back at the awkward bait-and-switch they pulled earlier that evening. Renly had kicked up a loud fuss, gagging and pretending to retch (as everyone knew he couldn't stand the sight of blood) when he came rushing into Robert's bedchambers. The distraction, loud as it was, kept everyone's attention on him rather than Teddy, still pretending to be the King.

The young wizard managed to Apparate out of the room, and just as quickly, an arranged portkey on Hermione's part had Robert moving from one bed to another. However, the trip was smooth, and his arrival on the new bed had him moaning in pain. That caused everyone to turn back to the King and for Renly to slip out without Pycelle ordering him to take some milk of the poppy for his hysterics.

Teddy, who appeared in Hermione's chambers immediately after, spent  _hours_  scrubbing the blood from his body. He was still very pale-faced, his freckles standing out in sharp relief when she sent him to bed in the Stark tower.

"How are yours?" asked Hermione, and Ned sighed.

"Arya and Bran are concerned for the King, somewhat, but Sansa is more concerned about how her betrothed is doing," the man answered. "That girl worries me at times - her head is so full of knights and songs and tournaments, that I wonder if she even understands reality half the time." He shook his head. "Her mother is to blame for this."

"I knew girls like that, growing up," replied Hermione. "They'll grow out of it if the occasion calls for it."

"What occasion was it for those you knew?" asked Ned curiously.

Hermione grimaced and turned away. "War."

They fell silent.

"You know, she didn't deny it?"

Hermione looked up. "Hmm?"

"The Queen. She didn't deny it when I asked," continued Ned, quietly. "But if there's something I have in common with her - that we all do - is that she loves her children."

"Most parents do, Ned."

"I think I pity her, Hermione."

"The Queen?" asked Hermione, blinking.

Ned nodded. "She told me she grew to hate Robert - but only after their wedding. She - She told me, 'Your sister was a corpse and I was a living girl and he loved her more than me.'" Ned closed his eyes, let out a ragged breath, and buried his face in his hands. "Even dead nigh on a score, Lyanna continues to destroy people. What she - what  _they_  - did - it continues to haunt us."

Hermione moved back to Ned and placed a hand on his shoulder. He reached up and laced their fingers together, holding her to him.

"I don't want that to be my legacy anymore," said Ned quietly. "I don't want to be stuck in the past, the way Cersei is. The way Robert is. I need to move forward, Hermione. There's just too much pain there."

"Then move forward," replied Hermione, tightening her grip on Ned's hand.

"Will you help?"

"Until the end," replied his soul mate, and he looked up at her, but there was something bitter in the way she said the words, a hidden, remembered pain as she spoke them.

He wanted to ask, wanted to know what she meant and why they hurt, but the doors to her rooms burst open and several golden-cloaked and red-cloaked city guard and Lannisters guards came pouring into the room, surrounding them with their swords drawn and pointed at the two.

Ned blinked and struggled to his feet, his hands still tangled with Hermione's as one of the guards stepped forward. "Eddard Stark. You are hereby arrested for treason against the crown."

"I - what!" Ned protested.

The guard glanced at Hermione and sneered. "As is your whore, the  _Lady_  Hermione Granger. You, your children - trueborn and baseborn - and your household are to be held accountable and under lock and key."

"This is ridiculous," thundered Ned, grey eyes cold as they swept the room and the guards shifted uneasily. "By whose orders?"

"By the Queen Regent," replied the same guard, his tone cool. "She said to remind you: 'When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground.'"

Ned collapsed back into the chair, heavily, eyes wide, a single thought overtaking him as the guards stepped forward and bound Hermione's hands in shackles:  _what have I done?_

* * *

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've seen my post on my profile, I am currently experiencing a year of bad luck, health-wise: electrocuted in October, and now dealing with issues with my eyes. I'm experiencing migraines that is limiting my time on the computer. My optometrist has been doing a bevy of tests, including multiple eye exams and prescription eye drops – we're hopeful it's not anything serious, but until then, it's cutting into my writing time. Things will also hopefully pick up after March, when the school year ends, as we're thinking it has to do with my focus and stress levels.
> 
> On a positive, I was bitten by a writing bug for this story and several bits of dialogue for the next 2 chapters is already written, including Hermione, Teddy and Jon's first scenes together!


	8. SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recognizable dialogue from 1x07, "You Win or You Die," 1x08, "The Pointy End," and 1x09, "Baelor." Also, I am nowhere near catching up to Season 8, so no spoilers in reviews, please.

SEVEN

* * *

Hermione allowed herself to be led by the burly City Watch guard, her eyes drifting ahead a few steps to the two that manhandled Ned through the near-empty hallways of the Tower of the Hand and then down, further into the Red Keep, into areas Hermione had never visited.

It was somewhere between the early morning hours and dawn, and parts of the castle were starting to wake for another day; the Stark household would be doing likewise, and Hermione knew that those - like Jory - who would first attend Ned, would find it strange that their liege lord had disappeared on them.

 _Unless,_  thought Hermione, narrowing her eyes,  _there would be others lying in wait_.

With a nearly inaudible sigh, the witch began to formulate her escape plan, thoughts turning inward and skittering ahead so much so that she completely lost any track or idea of where she was; the guard found himself practically towing the woman along, without any complaint or resistance to her form as they moved down narrow passages or dark stairs.

Eventually, they reached the dungeons; they were dark and damp, and smelt vaguely of a mix of feces and rotten food. Hermione's nose wrinkled in protest and a nonverbal flick of her hand - like a spasm - caused a shimmer around her head, and then Ned's as well.

The man jerked for a moment but took a deep breath soon after with a happy sigh. The bubblehead charm recycled the air around them and it was one consideration Hermione could give her soul mate.

They arrived at a dark cellblock shortly, filled with quiet moans or pleas of innocence. The hallway passage was narrow, with slick, moist stone on one side and the cells on the other, with wall sconces placed every few feet. The light from the candles flickered and their shadows jumped and moved.

The cells were in pairs, with half-stone walls separating each set of two and then floor to ceiling bars between the two. The half walls were also separated by thick, mold and grime-ridden bars, leaving many of the interiors dirty and hidden in partial shadows. Some hay, discoloured and rigid, lay bunched in corners.

Ned was the first one thrown into the dungeon, his hands unshackled by the City Watch. He stumbled into the room, catching himself on the far wall, making Hermione realize how small the cells were.

Two guards followed him in, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then-

Ned doubled over as one guard swung his fist into the Stark's midsection. Ned gagged, exhaling loudly.

"Ned!"

"Shut it, you bitch!" the one guard next to her shook her head and she glowered in response; just as Ned brought an arm up the block a swung at his head, but missed the second guard taking the opportunity to kick him at the back of his knee, sending Ned to the ground.

The first guard managed to land the blow to Ned's head, slamming into Ned's face hard enough that his lip split and Ned was sent crashing face-first to the dirty floor, barely catching himself. He spat out a glob of blood and spit.

Hermione wrinkled her nose and turned to her guard as the man roughly hauled her into her cell next to Ned's. She, however, did not stumble as she strode into the cell, looking at its four corners and eyeing up the cell door hinges with a curious tilt to her head before her eyes fell on the three guards just beyond her reach.

" _That is enough_ ," she said pointedly, and there was something off about her voice that had the guards turn as one toward her.

Ned coughed, glancing up with one hand pressed to his side as a bruise began to appear on his face, keeping his eye swollen shut.

" _You will leave us now_ ," continued Hermione, in the same voice.

" _We will leave now_ ," the guard nearest her echoed, his voice monotone.

Ned's mouth dropped open just as the door to his cell slammed shut. Both his guards left without a single word or any other blows to his body. A grim expression appeared on his long face as he realized that Hermione used magic on them.

The guards did not speak as they left, and it was only once they could no longer hear the heavy clank of their armour plates shifting against one another and the bobbing of the lantern they brought with them disappeared.

Only then, did Hermione turn to Ned through their shared floor-to-ceiling bars, arms crossed and sighed, "Well, what have you gotten us into, Ned?"

He flinched.

"I didn't mean to -" he faltered as Hermione raised her eyebrows and he turned his head away.  _I'm sorry_ , he sent across their bond.

Hermione uncrossed her arms. "I know. But this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't have tripped your hand regarding the Queen and her children-"

He flinched again. " _I know_."

The two fell into quiet, and then Ned continued: "I didn't mean for you to be in here with me." He paused. "But, I don't suppose…?"

"Oh, I can get us out of here easily enough," said Hermione with a small smile. "But it's what we're going to do next that is important."

Ned nodded. "My children-"

"Teddy," agreed Hermione, " _and_  your household. I don't imagine that their treatment will be better than ours."

"No, not at all," replied Ned quietly. "I need to warn them-"

"Agreed. But how?"

Ned's mouth turned downward into a deep frown as he began to pace the tiny cell, bringing a hand up to his mouth to rub at it as he thought. He knew that Hermione had a plan and that she could leave at any time - but she was testing him, pushing him, to think things through a bit more clearer than he had previously done.

 _How can I save not only my children but my men?_  He wondered, as that was the rub of it. With magic, through Hermione, he had an option of limitless potential. It was a matter of what he could think of and what Hermione could do - and having known her and seen some of what she could do, he merely had to suggest and she would see it done.

"My children need to be protected," he said first, as they were his priority. "We need to get them away from the Red Keep."

"Done," said Hermione, flicking her wrist as her wand slid from her holster to her palm. She made a gesture and a silver otter appeared, swimming through the air around her. It was similar to the wolf that spoke with Teddy's voice.

Hermione waited until the otter was eye level to her, and she said, "Teddy. Ned and I have been captured and placed in the dungeons. We're fine; I can leave at any time. Get the kids out. Take them somewhere else; maybe where we first stayed? We'll meet you there."

The otter nodded once and then turned on its lean body, disappearing through the thick stone of the dungeon.

"My household - is there any way to warn them?" asked Ned.

"I imagine Teddy will attempt to do so in the process," said Hermione, with a slight shrug. "The challenge will be reaching everyone in time before the City Watch cotton on, even with my help."

"Your help?"

The look Hermione sent Ned was one he associated with  _you've dribbled, dear_. Instead, she spun on her heel and with a quiet  _pop_  appeared just inches from Ned in his cell, causing his breath to catch as he held it in. He leaned back minutely, staring down at Hermione's amber-like eyes as she peered up at him.

"I've set up a proximity alert. When someone comes near this part of the dungeons, we'll Apparate back so they don't know we can leave," she said, her voice low. "But we can leave at any time. Shall we?"

Ned's nod came slowly, but he stretched out a hand and Hermione grasped it tightly; then, he felt like he was being squeezed, his chest compressing, and as his ears popped, he realized he had closed his eyes. Opening them, he saw he was in a smallish room with two thin cots pressed against opposite walls. A woman in wool-spun clothing was staring at him, open-mouthed.

"Bother," muttered Hermione, her wand pointed at the woman, who had sucked in a large gulp of air, ready to scream.

Instead, the woman fell silent, her eyes wide with terror. Another flick of Hermione's wand and the woman dropped sideways on the cot, asleep. A few steps forward, and then Hermione was placing the tip of her wand against the woman's temple. A quiet murmur of, " _Obliviate,_ " removed any memories of her and Ned appearing from nowhere - as well as the fact she had rented the room at the inn, to begin with.

Ned glanced at Hermione, disapproval in his eyes. "You didn't have to do that."

"Do you think you can trust her enough to not blab about the Hand of the King - who was just arrested on treason charges - to the Watch?" Hermione's pointed look made Ned flush in embarrassment.

"I like to think people are better than that," he said finally, moving to sit on the free cot.

Hermione gave a low chuckle. "I used to think like that. And then I realized that people only care to look out for themselves."

Ned frowned. "Did you war really change you so much, Hermione? I thought -" he stopped and shook his head. "You were always so idealistic-"

"I still am," she replied, her wand hand still moving as she cast a compulsion to rent another room at a different inn.  _I'm going to have to confound the innkeeper again_ , she thought with a mental sigh, also nonverbally packing the woman's clothing and knickknacks into her travelling bag and placing it by the door.

"But maybe I'm also realistic when it comes to dangerous scenarios. I don't take risks without weighing the pros and cons." When she turned to look at Ned over her shoulder, she finished, "I learned that the hard way."

Ned winced, thinking back to the war, and the things he could have done differently with a bit more knowledge, a bit more planning - Lyanna, the Tower of Joy, and her Kingsguard protectors, specifically.

The woman in the wool-spun dress groaned, her eyes fluttering as she awoke. Her eyes were glazed, not even lingering on Hermione or Ned as she wobbled and stood. She made a zigzagged line toward the door, hastily gathering her bag in her hands. She then opened the door and stepped out of the room, closing it behind her without glancing back.

"Will she… will she remember us?" asked Ned with an awkward clearing of his throat.

Hermione shook her head. "Not at all."

"Now what?"

Hermione grimaced, sitting on the opposite cot, her hands hanging between her legs and she let her wand slip back into her holster. Her eyes were tired, slight bags under them as she peered across the room at her soul mate. "We wait for Teddy and see what we can do to help."

* * *

The feeling of Robert's blood lingered on Teddy, days later, and he found that he was unable to sleep past the first rays of sunlight. The castle was already bustling, and with his enhanced hearing, Teddy was unable to shut it off and unwilling to cast a  _silencio_  on his room in the Tower of the Hand.

Instead, while his room was still dark, he dressed in his clothing - becoming something of a uniform of mismatched period pieces and theatrical overcoats that reminded him of wizard's robes - and stepped quietly into the hallway beyond his room.

 _Arya mentioned something about dancing this morning,_  thought Teddy, making his way to the stairs to head up to the interior living quarters of the Hand.  _Maybe she'll let me sit in again?_

On his way, he spotted Jory and a few other guards doing a shift change. The castellan was bright-eyed and carried several scrolls and parchments in his hand for Lord Stark: early morning correspondences.

"Good morning, Teddy," he greeted, nodding at a yawning guard as the man, walking side-by-side with two others, nodded back tiredly. "How are you this morn?"

"Eh, okay I guess," replied Teddy, ignoring that 'okay' wasn't a word people used in Westeros. However, Jory was perceptive enough to garner the intention of the word, nodding slowly. "Are those for Ned?"

Jory glanced down. "Yes; there were quite a few ravens during the evening…"

Teddy grimaced. "Better Ned than me, I suppose." He then brightened, "Listen - do you mind if I join you? I'm going to ask if he needs any help with getting things ready for us to leave later today… I want to feel useful, you know?"

"Certainly," agreed Jory, a grin on his face, making him look younger than he was. "Although I am sure you'll be placed in Septa-duty, watching either Underfoot or Lady Sansa…"

Teddy reached up and rubbed at the back of his head. "I was thinking of watching Arya's dancing lesson later…"

The two continued their discussion as they ascended the stairs until they reached Ned's solar. Jory knocked once and waited for a reply. When nothing came, he knocked again, a frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" asked Teddy, when Jory's face began to slide into worry.

"I checked Lord Stark's rooms this morning, and he wasn't there," the man explained, moving to bring a hand at the knob, but hesitating before touching it. "I assumed he was already in his solar… but if he is not answering."

Concern flashed through Teddy. "He could be hurt! Or something is wrong! Let's go in!"

"It's not proper-"

But Teddy had already pushed the door open by nudging Jory out of the way, stepping into the room and loudly calling, "Ned? Ned? You here?"

The room was dark; the shutters over the window had not been opened nor had someone come by to light the small hearth. Instead, the room was dark and smelled vaguely musty, and despite the noise of King's Landing waking outside of the room, it was eerily quiet.

Teddy and Jory's breathing was loud in the dark.

"Something's not right," whispered Teddy, his eyesight making out the shapes and stillness of the room far better than Jory's human eyesight could do. The teen felt the man stiffen in reply, a hand slowly reaching for his ever-present sword.

"I agree," he replied, just as quietly.

Teddy's ear twitched and he spun on his heel, turning to face the door where the only light spilled into the room from a few candles placed sporadically along the stairwell and from a single open window in the hall leading to the solar.

"What is it?"

"Do you hear that?" muttered Teddy, his nose turning up a bit as he sniffed the air.  _Blood. I smell blood_.

"Teddy?"

The Hufflepuff reached out and grabbed Jory tightly by the upper arm, hauling him with a strength that the man would deny Teddy could ever have, given his lean form. Without protesting though, other than a loud exhale of air as he was manhandled, Jory followed Teddy as the teen pushed him up behind the solar door, against the wall. Teddy kept an arm braced against Jory's chest, pressing him into the wall.

Unable to see now that they were out of the small, direct sunlight, Jory missed Teddy slipping his wand out - but he certainly felt the sharp tap on his head and the sensation of cold, slimy egg slipping down into the collar of his tunic. "Teddy - what -"

" _Shush_ ," the teen ordered, nonverbally casting a  _silencio_  around them just as both heard the thundering pounding of several feet.

Moments later, several City guards burst into the room, their swords - some already bloodied and wet - raised. One deeply scowled as he strode further into the room, throwing open a shutter as light burst into the study.

Jory flinched violently, but Teddy did not so much move. Jory's eyes instead darted toward the teen, and he felt his entire being freeze. The young, genial teen he had gotten used to, the one who rambled on about things that excited him, had a smile for everyone and even happily did menial tasks that no Lord's bastard would be happy to do, have a feral look to his eyes.

His mouth was pulled tight, into a thin line but it was his eyes - flashing amber in a way Jory had never seen before - that had the seasoned soldier holding his breath. At that moment, Jory was certain that Teddy was the most dangerous thing in the room.

"Fuck!" swore the guard, striding to another shutter and opening it violently. It banged against the outside wall. "The door was open but no one is here!"

 _What?_  thought Jory. He and Teddy were hardly  _hidden_  - but the guards' eyes swept over the two of them like they weren't even there as he turned around the room.

"C'mon," replied another guard in a thick accent, "Let's try the Septa's rooms. Maybe they heard us coming?"

The first guard growled low in his throat as he muttered, "There shouldn't've been any warning! The Queen's man told us everything was done quietly…"

The three men left the solar, leaving nothing but a strained silence behind. Finally, Teddy relaxed from where he pressed against Jory and then stepped away. Jory exhaled, blinking.

"What happened?" he asked quietly. "Why couldn't they see us?"

"Is that really what you want to know right now?" asked Teddy, cutting a sharp glance at him. His face was strangely angular, and Jory thought that, for one moment, his hair was curlier and shaggier than it had been previously. "From the sound of things, they're going after the Stark household."

"The guards!" Jory's eyes widened. "They must have run into the shift change-"

"They're dead," replied Teddy, biting his lower lip. His hard tone had shifted into worry. "They're going to Septa Mordane's next… would Sansa be there?"

"Maybe," replied Jory, thinking of the young Lord and Ladies schedule. They would have breakfast first, but only and Bran would be awake… Sansa would likely be sleeping… "Probably not."

"We need to get everyone out," said Teddy instead, looking around. "Or as many as we can-"

"Right, we don't know how many are already dead," finished Jory, standing straighter as Teddy began to take control. It was unconscious, but perhaps there was a part of Jory recognizing the logic of Teddy's words - or a part of him looking at the teen and thinking,  _this. This is Lord Stark's son._

Teddy looked Jory up and down. "You look like a Northerner."

There was no heat in his words - just fact - but Jory scowled anyway. "So?"

"You can't go around saving people looking like that." There was amusement on the teen's face. "Up for a bit of subterfuge?"

"I-  _what_?"

But Teddy was already looking down at Jory's chest, and the man followed only to watch his Northern-style tunic morph and shift in colour and design until it resembled something similar to the clothing worn by Lannister men.

Mouth open, Jory looked up at Teddy. "How did you…?"

"No time. I'll explain later."

"But - they'll look at me  _and know_ -"

"Only if you open your mouth. Blimey, I've never heard anyone with such a thick accent," muttered Teddy, shaking his head. "Just… roundup as many as you can, alright? No one looks at the help."

"But no one else will look like me!" protested Jory, pointing a finger at his newly red tunic.

Teddy grimaced. "True." He rolled his bottom lip into his mouth, chewed it a moment, and then his eyes lit up. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rummaging a bit until he pulled out the wolf pin Ned had given him. "Use this," he said, shoving it at Jory.

Jory grabbed it, looked at it, and then looked at Teddy. His expression read  _are you kidding me?_ , which caused Teddy to sigh.

"With everyone you save, have them wear this until their clothes change, okay?" he testily explained, running a hand through his hair. "It'll last long enough for you to either get them away from the Red Keep or on the road. Or a boat. Or something - I need to get to Arya."

"I'll go for Lord Bran and Lady Sansa," agreed Jory, but Teddy shook his head. "I'll get them; you get whomever you can out first. We need to split up."

Jory's frown deepened. He didn't like the idea of leaving the little Lord and Lady behind. "But-"

"Jory,  _please_."

The man huffed but acquiesced. He wagged a finger in Teddy's face. "You better not do anything stupid, Teddy-"

"Me?" asked Teddy with a shaky grin. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

The resulting glare highly implied Jory didn't believe Teddy, but he left the solar quickly, leaving the Hufflepuff alone.

A silver streak burst into the room, startling Teddy as he turned to face it. The otter paused, looking around and then faced Teddy head-on, Hermione's terse voice emerging from it.

"Ted. Ned and I have been taken to the dungeons by the City watch. If you don't know by now, we're under arrest. We'll try to save as many as you can, but you get the kids out. I'll meet you at our old rooms at the inn." The otter paused, and then added, its voice soft: "Don't do anything stupid. Be safe."

Teddy's grin slipped off his face; both Aunt Hermione  _and_  Jory? It wasn't fair. He certainly wasn't the King of Stupid Ideas, but - to be fair - he did learn at the knee of his Uncle Harry...

* * *

The early morning light bled across the open floor and lit the columns that surrounded the rectangular room. A warm breeze wafted through the openings by the balcony, and the few palm trees that reached the height of the room Eddard Stark had set aside in the Tower of the Hand for Arya's dancing lessons swayed.

A tiny frown pinched Arya's brows as she stood, her hands at her side while Syrio Forel, took a ready stance, one leg extended long with his wooden training sword raised above his head.

"Is a girl not going to pick up her sword?" he mocked in his light Braavosi accent.

"Something feels strange," she replied, her voice tiny and quiet. "I don't want to practice today."

"No?" Forel frowned. "You are troubled."

"Yes."

Quick as lightning, Forel lashed out with the wooden sword and whacked Arya across her arm with it, and she flinched but didn't move.

"Good!" he said, eyes laughing but face serious. "Trouble is a perfect time to do training. Now - pick up your sword."

"I don't-"

Forel whacked her again and Arya bit back the urge to growl at him.

" _You're not here!_ " he chastised. "You're with your trouble. If you're with your trouble when fighting happens-"

He whacked her again, but this time Arya raised her left arm and blocked the strike. Forel grinned and went to parry again, but Arya blocked it once more. Then, he spun and extended the reach of his attack and thrust, causing her to stumble and fall on her back.

"-More trouble for you."

She stared up at him.

He  _tsk_ ed, "Just so," and began to walk away, pacing a bit as he got into a ready position again. "How can you be… quick as a snake?"

He launched a light attack of parries and thrusts at Arya, despite being on the ground. The grin on her face, however, showed that she was enjoying herself. She spun on her knees and got to her feet, and they continued with her lesson.

"Or as quiet as a shadow?"

But Forel quickly overwhelmed Arya, grabbing the hilt of her sword with a deft twist of his wrist and a full-body spin, bracing both at her neck when he completed his move, a smile on his lips.

"When you are somewhere else-"

Arya's eyes went wide, and Forel placed a hand on her shoulder, putting down both practice swords as he did so.

"Tell me, girl: do you pray to the Gods?"

"The Old and the New," replied Arya, swallowing thickly. Her eyes held on Forel's.

A silent "ah" passed Forel's mouth and he drew Arya in closer, leaning down slightly as he spoke. "There is only one God: and his name - is  _death_. And there is only one thing we say to death," continued Forel, chucking Arya under the chin as he finished, " _Not today_."

He backed up, his toe catching the blade of the wooden sword. With a flick, it launched in the air and he caught it; he then tossed it to her and the training began again with a thrust of his sword. " _Yah_! Left high, left low. Right low, lunge right…"

The two moved around each other as Forel spoke his instructions. "This way! Left, right.  _Rah_! – Now, you are dead."

Arya's mouth dropped open as her eyes followed her fallen sword. Indignant, she argued, "You said right, but you went left!"

With his sword still pointed at her, Forel smiled. "And now,  _you_  are a dead girl."

Arya's mouth turned down. "Only 'cause you lied."

"My tongue lied. My eyes shouted the truth," replied Forel, his tone knowing. "You were not seeing."

"I was so! I watched, but you-"

"Watching is not seeing, dead girl. The seeing, the true seeing, that is the heart of swordplay," the man continued, placing both hands behind his back as he loomed toward Arya. The young Stark girl pouted in response.

Just then, the door to the room opened and three guards strode in; one in a gold cloak of the City Watch, and two in Lannister red. Arya's eyes flitted back and forth between them as the first guard in gold spoke.

"Arya Stark, come with us. Your father wants to see you."

Arya took a step forward, but Forel shot his arm out to block her, his face severe enough she froze in her spot, staring up at him.

Forel's voice was frosty, despite the musical lilt to it as he spoke, his eyes lingering on the red cloaks of the Lannister guards. "And why is it that Lord Eddard is sending Lannister men in place of his own? I wonder."

The city guard's reply was just as frosty. "Mind your place, dancing master. This is no concern of  _yours_."

Arya took several steps back, and then two to the side as she picked up her training sword. "My father wouldn't send you. And I don't have to go with you if I don't want."

The guards' eyes narrowed on her form, skipping over Forel. "Take her!" he instructed, and one Lannister guard stepped forward.

In response, Arya backed up and shrieked as she hit something. She spun, raising her sword, but stopped just as suddenly when she looked up and saw Teddy staring out at the four men in front of her. "Teddy!"

She reached out and hugged his middle.

"Arya," the teen replied, but Arya blinked, pulling back. There was something in his voice, in the way he held his body - as if it were trembling. Arya glanced at his hands, at his sides, and saw that one was clenched tightly into a fist, and the other was holding a stick tightly.

Forel glanced back, but ignored Teddy's arrival, having grown used to him over the weeks he had kept Arya company during her other lessons. He turned back to the guards. "Are you men or snakes, that you would threaten a child?"

The Lannister guard continued to advance. "Get out of my way, little man."

Forel's eyebrows raised. "I am Syrio Forel-"

"Foreign bastard," the guard cursed, drawing his sword and swinging for Forel's head.

"-and you will be speaking to me with more respect," the Braavosi finished, smacking the wooden sword hard against the man's helmet, sending him crashing to the side and into a column.

Immediately, the city guard and final Lannister guard leaped into action, withdrawing their swords and stepping forward threateningly. Forel, in an even tone, stepped away from the fallen Lannister guard and continued, "And  _you_  will speak to me with more respect."

He stopped directly in front of Arya, blocking her from the guards' view.

The city guard snarled. "Kill the Braavosi! Bring the girl!"

Forel's eyes moved back and forth between the two as they slowly advanced. "Arya child, we are done with dancing for the day." He did not look back. "Go with young Teddy."

Just as Arya stepped back, the Lannister guard darted forward, and Forel brought his sword up - but then held himself still as the guard froze. The man's eyes widened in panic and they darted this way and that as he stood unnaturally, one leg up and his arm extended in a downward swing that would never happen.

He wobbled, and then fell to the floor in the same pose.

The city guard gaped and looked from the fallen Lannister guard up - "What the fucking hell are you?" he demanded.

Arya and Forel turned to see Teddy, only the young man strode past them, completely ignoring the fallen guard as he passed him.

The city guard bared his teeth and hefted his sword up.

"You two should run," said Teddy, his words directed at Forel and Arya, despite not facing them.

Affronted, Forel replied, "The first sword of Braavos does not run!"

Although they couldn't see it, Teddy's mouth twitched into a grin. The city guard backed up, and Teddy matched each step.

With an aggravated shout, the guard launched forward, sword swinging through the air as Teddy leaned away, the blade missing him by centimeters.

"You know," he began conversationally; "I've been watching Master Forel teach Arya for some time now."

The guard said nothing, just thrust his sword, and hoarsely cried out as Teddy kicked at the man's leg, using the force to push himself away in a graceful spin that normally, he wouldn't have done until he was behind the guard.

The man spun, keeping Teddy in his sight.

"And something that I've learned from Syrio Forel is this," finished Teddy as he pivoted on his heel and twisted his body away from a violent swish of the guard's sword, bringing his wand up. "What do we say to the god of death?"

A red light burst from the wand and the man crumpled to the ground, stunned.

Silence stretched through the room, and then Forel was striding forward, with the training sword in his hand. He then thrust the wooden piece directly into the gap between the guards' chinstrap and chest plate, staking the man through the unprotected neck.

Blood spurted out and Teddy leaped backward to avoid the spray of warm blood.

"Not today," finished Forel, grimly. "Not today."

The man left the training sword sticking out of the man's neck as he backed away, glancing at Arya in concern as she stared, pale-faced at the dead guard. "Arya, child. Come. We must leave."

Nodding slowly, Arya moved a few steps in Forel's direction as he turned to the door, but Teddy shook his head. "Not that way - there are more guards going through the halls."

"Then how do we leave, young Teddy?" asked the frustrated dancing master.

Teddy swallowed. "Do you trust me?"

Arya opened her mouth immediately to agree, but Forel's sharp glance at her, and then equally sharp look at her newest half-sibling kept her quiet. Finally, after a few tense moments, Forel said, quietly, "Yes."

"Take my hands," instructed Teddy immediately, stretching them out. Arya was surprised to see they were empty.

"Where did your stick go?" she asked, but she still reached for Teddy's left hand and clasped it with her own.

Forel caught Teddy's forearm.

"Brace yourselves," he said instead, grimly, and then they were squeezed through a tube. Arya's ears popped and she fell to the floor, dry heaving, and gagging on her hands and knees.

"Arya!"

Her head jerked up, and then she was gathered in the familiar scent of the forest, sweat, and something infinitely winter.  _Father_.

Behind her, as she grabbed tight onto her father's tunic, burrowing into the space between his chin and shoulder, she heard snippets of conversation.

"-Going back-"

"How many got out?"

"-Not sure; Jory was on that-"

"-Alone?"

"I could use some help…"

When Arya looked up, Teddy and Hermione were both gone, leaving her alone in a smallish room with two cots, a wardrobe, and a washbasin with her father and Syrio Forel. "Where did Teddy and Lady Granger go?"

"To get your brother and sister," said Ned quietly, a hand cupping the back of Arya's dark hair. "And to see if anyone else got out with Jory."

"What's happening?" asked Arya, her own voice quiet. "Why did those guards want me to go with them? Why weren't you there?"

Ned sighed and rested his cheek against his daughter's head. "I'm so sorry, Arya. Do you remember me telling you we've come to a dangerous place?"

Arya nodded.

"Well, it's just become much more dangerous now - and I don't know what will happen next."

* * *

Hermione and Teddy split up once they Apparated back into the Red Keep, picking Teddy's bedroom in the Tower of the Hand as their entry point.

A few simple colour changing charms and some simple transfiguration made Teddy's clothing a Lannister uniform. It was easy for him to shift his features into a generic blond - although Hermione's double-look and comically wide eyes made Teddy wonder if he modelled his looks a bit too much on Al's friend of Scorpius - and a disillusionment charm paired with silenced boots faded Hermione into the background.

Teddy went right while Hermione went left at a junction in a hallway; Teddy moving towards Sansa's bedroom while his aunt went to check on the household staff. He had told her what Jory looked like in his new uniform, but Hermione's absent nod told Teddy that she was already beyond listening, and he left the conversation behind.

Sansa's room was empty when he arrived, with toppled chairs and a large bloodstain in the middle of the floor, accompanied by a blue headscarf, partially soaked. Teddy knelt carefully at its side, his heart clenching. He hadn't liked Septa Mordane much, but -

A sniffle caught his attention and his head jerked up from his kneeling position. He strained his ears. "Sansa?"

A tawny-haired girl poked her head out from her hiding place, from behind the partially opened back of the hearth. Her chin and cheeks were covered in soot, and her dress was severely rumpled. Her eyes were wide but when she spotted Teddy, she launched out and into his arms, toppling the teen to the ground.

" _Oof_!"

"Ser Teddy!" she cried, hot tears soaking his shoulder.

"Erm," said Teddy, completely at a loss for the girl's name. He knew she was a friend of Sansa's, often at the girl's elbow when they were in the Tower, but for the life of him… "There, there," he said, awkwardly patting her.

"I'm so glad you're here!" the girl continued. "When Septa Mordane told us to run, Sansa wouldn't, but I hid-"

Teddy pulled back to gape at the girl. "What do you mean, Sansa didn't run?"

The girl shook her head. "I hid. They didn't want me - they didn't care for J-Jeyne Poole, did they? No, they wanted S-Sansa. They k-killed Septa Mordane and then - then they dragged S-Sansa out…"

"Lannisters?" asked Teddy darkly.

Jeyne nodded.

"Do you know where she was taken?" he asked.

Jeyne shook her head. "But Bran is with them - I know they got him. I heard them say that."

Teddy swore under his breath. "Listen - did anyone else get out?"

Jeyne bit her lip. "I-I'm not sure… I know that… the guards were confused. Confused because there weren't that many people in the tower…"

"Good," exhaled Teddy. "That means Jory got some out."

Jeyne perked up. "Do we have somewhere safe to go?"

"I think so," replied Teddy, glancing around the room and then helping Jeyne to her feet. "Hang on tight-"

He spun them and Apparated back to the inn, where Jeyne froze for a moment and then vomited over Teddy's front. Teddy froze, in an aborted motion to half-shove Jeyne from him.

Somewhere, Arya began laughing loudly.

"Ser Teddy, I am  _so sorry_ -!"

"Oh, Ted…!"

Teddy sighed and waved his hand, nonverbally and without his wand, casting  _scourgify_  and vanishing the sick from his chest, and the floor. Unfortunately, the smell lingered. He met Ned's eyes as the man looked down at Jeyne. There was fear and worry in them.

"I'm going back," he announced. "Jory got some out, but I'm not sure how many-"

A loud pop in the room signalled Hermione's arrival at Teddy's side. Jeyne let out a shrill scream of surprise, but it was Forel who came to her side and with a whispered conversation, calmed the young teen down and led her to a free cot.

"What's happening? What did you learn?" demanded Ned.

"Nothing good," scowled Hermione, looking around. She stopped at Teddy. "Did you find Bran or Sansa?"

He shook his head. "They were already collected."

"Bother - that's what I thought," she sighed, running a hand through her curls and messing the riotous mess up further, making her hair puff out. "From what I heard, half of the household is missing. The rest," she trailed off with an apologetic look at Ned, whose heart clenched.

"Do we know where…?" Ned trailed off, his voice tense and quiet.

"I told them to just get out as quickly as possible," replied Teddy, embarrassed as he fidgeted. "I couldn't think of a safe meeting place, so I told them to go north as soon as possible."

Ned sighed. "I suppose that's-"

Hermione stiffened, her face shifting into alarm.

"What? What is it?" Ned asked, dropping Arya to the cot he was sitting on as he strode across the room to grab tightly at Hermione's shoulder.

"The proximity alert," whispered Hermione, staring at Ned. Her face paled.

Ned inhaled sharply.

" _What_  alert?" cried Teddy, turning to face them just as Hermione said, "We need to go. Now," then with Ned holding onto her, Apparated them both from the room at the inn and back into the dungeon.

She quickly popped into the empty cell next to his, leaving Ned reeling from the magical travel. He braced himself against the wall as he slid down onto his knees, shutting his eyes tightly as he swallowed back nausea, a sheen of sweat breaking out as his skin flushed.

"Ned? You okay?" whispered Hermione, raising her hand with her wand and casting a gentle glow from her  _lumos_.

A distant clang caught Hermione's attention, and her head spun around in the tiny, dark cell toward it. She extinguished her  _lumos_ on her own, plunging them into darkness.

"Hermione…?"

" _Shh_. Someone's coming."

Ned slowly stood, straining his own ears until he heard the quick, light shuffle of someone trying to move quickly and quietly. Then, from a corner, a round man with a hood up appeared, carrying a lantern that illuminated the two small cells side-by-side.

Hermione cocked a hip and crossed her arms, a deep frown pulling at her mouth. Ned looked from her to the man as he put down the lantern and pushed his hood back.

"Lord Stark, you're looking…" the man broke off as he took the time to look at the other man, his rehearsed speech thrown out the window.

Ned kept silent, as Varys looked the Lord of Winterfell up and down; a frown on his face as he realized that Ned was clean, looked well rested, and even well-fed, despite the bruise on the side of his face.

"... Remarkably well for a man thrown in the deepest prison below the Red Keep." He shook his head as if banishing whatever thoughts he had from his mind. Instead, he asked, "Thirsty?", revealing a wineskin attached to a belt underneath the cloak. He held it out toward Ned, through the bars.

Ned's eyes narrowed. "Varys." The Stark looked down at the drink and then back at the Master of Whispers. "No, thank you."

Varys' expression did not change. "I promise you, it isn't poisoned. Why is it no one ever trusts the eunuch?"

"Gee, I wonder," muttered Hermione from her side.

"Where are my children? Tell me about my family," commanded Ned, speaking over Hermione's muttered remark.

"And Teddy. Where's Teddy?" interrupted Hermione, stepping forward and closer to the bars.

Varys glanced between the two, folding his hands into his sleeves. He eventually turned to Ned. "The younger one seems to have escaped the castle. The consensus is that Lady Granger's son was the one to spirit her away. Even my little birds cannot find them now. Wherever they are, it's far from King's Landing."

Hermione closed her eyes, but Ned's jaw tensed. "And Sansa? Bran?"

"You eldest daughter will remain engaged to Joffrey. Cersei will keep her close," answered Varys quietly. "Your son is held under guard in his room; as far as I am aware, the two will only be allowed to see each other and speak once a day. Some of your house hold is missing; the rest though is dead, it grieves me to say. I do so hate the sight of blood."

Ned's eyes narrowed. "You watched my men being slaughtered and did  _nothing_."

"And would again, my lord," replied Varys, his tone even.

"What kind of person would let others be slaughtered mindlessly?" asked Hermione, making Varys turn to her. "Ned and I were unarmed, unarmoured and surrounded by Lannister swords. Is that the kind of man you are, Spymaster?"

Varys seemed to consider the question but then turned back to Ned. "What madness led you to tell the queen you had learned the truth about Joffrey's birth?"

Ned sighed, leaning away from the bars and turning his back on Varys. "Oh, don't you start, too - I've heard enough of it from Hermione!"

Varys turned to Hermione, seeking an answer.

She shrugged. "I told him his concept of mercy and honour won't mean anything to someone who holds those two concepts at a different standard. Ned likes children; he thought she might save her children. That they would be enough instead of power."

Varys made a sympathetic face at Ned's back. "It's always the innocents who suffer."

"Too right," muttered Ned, clenching his hands at his side.

Hermione watched him carefully while Varys continued to speak.

"It wasn't the wine that killed Robert, nor the boar. The wine slowed him down and the boar ripped him open, but it was your mercy that killed the king. I trust you know you're a dead man, Lord Eddard?"

Ned snorted, turning around. There was mirth in his eyes. "The queen can't kill me. She won't kill me."

"Oh? Why do you say so?" asked Varys, a curious tilt to his bald head.

"I've met the Queen a few times," interjected Hermione, shifting to casually lean against the bars that separated her cell from Ned's. "And Cersei is no fool. She knows a tame wolf is more use to her than a dead one."

"Also, the realm would bleed. Another Stark killed in King's Landing?" Ned shook his head. "No one will believe that I of all people wanted to dethrone Robert. My word - my reputation - is too strong for that."

"Well," began Varys, glancing apologetically at Hermione, who stiffened. "It  _once_  was, my Lord. But not today. Not anymore."

Ned angrily strode forward at the slight against Hermione and gripped two bars tightly with his hands as he wrapped them around the cool metal. "What would you have me do, Varys?"

"l want you to serve the realm!" the other man leaned forward earnestly. "Tell the queen you will confess your vile treason, and proclaim Joffrey as the true heir!"

"He's not the true heir," scoffed Ned, shaking his head and backing away from the bars.

Varys eyes closed, and to Hermione, who had seen Snape when under the considerable strain of spying while managing a bunch of teenagers, recognized the move. "If you give the queen the peace she needs, and promise to carry her secret to your grave, l believe she will allow you to take the black and live out your days on the Wall with your brother."

"You think my life is some precious thing to me?" asked Ned, his voice low and challenging. "l grew up with soldiers. l learned how to die a long time ago."

"No, my Lord," said Varys, and his tone was truly exasperated. "But I think you consider the lives of your family precious. What of your daughter's life, my lord? Your youngest son's? Are they that a precious thing to you?" Varys' eyes darted toward the silent woman in the next cell. "And what of your marked half? Is she not precious?"

"I think I'm good, thanks," replied Hermione, completely unfazed by Varys' attempts to have Ned agree to take the Black through emotional manipulation. "Ned doesn't need to worry about me, and I think that his family will be fairly safe while Teddy's out there."

Ned nodded, agreeing with Hermione. "Tell me something, Varys. Who do you truly serve?"

Varys coolly looked at Ned's face, searching for something that he could use. "The realm, my lord. Someone must."

"That," said Hermione from her place, making Varys look at her, "Is something we can both agree on. Now, if that's all, Lord Varys - I think we're done here."

The man stared at the two, his beady eyes drifting from Ned to Hermione and back again a few times, as though time would crack them. When neither spoke, the man nodded and tucked his hands back into his robes.

"Very well," he said, his voice quiet. "I wish you both luck, my Lord Stark, Lady Granger. You will need it."

Ned scowled at the man as he disappeared, disappearing into the shadows. He turned to look at Hermione, who held up a single hand, urging him to be quiet. Her eyes focused on the shadows beyond the cell, watchful until several minutes had passed.

Her hand dropped.

"He's gone?" confirmed Ned.

She nodded.

"I will not allow my children to be used as bargaining chips!" the man finally exploded, his voice low and dark. "Can you not go to them directly?"

Hermione paused. "I  _could_ -"

" _BUT_?" the word left Ned's lips as a low hiss, and he moved to the bars separating their cells, gripping his hands around the steel tightly, so much so the skin turned white.

"Don't you find this all strange?" asked Hermione, turning away from him to stare down the hallway and direction Varys came from. "It's all very sudden; this doesn't seem like Cersei at all. She didn't particularly care about me, to begin with, and took pleasure in your ruined reputation."

"My reputation is  _not_ -"

The look Hermione sent Ned was dark. "Oh, come off it, Ned; you know what I mean. My arrival and Teddy's claimant as your son certainly hasn't helped you any."

Ned resisted the urge to grind his teeth.

"She might have thrown us in the dungeon as an 'out of sight, out of mind' thing, but this doesn't seem like her at all." Hermione frowned and crossed her arms, cocking her hip. "This seems like someone wants you out of the way, and as soon as possible by eliminating your support with your household guard and staff."

"You mean this is personal," stared Ned, slowly stiffening.

Hermione paused. "I really hope not, but… yes. It seems so."

Ned closed his eyes and gripped the bars tightly before letting go and taking a few steps back. His voice was hollow when he spoke. "Take us out of here and let us plan our next move. My enemies will learn just how much danger they are in when hunted by a wolf."

* * *

"Bran!"

"Sansa!"

The guard tossed Sansa's younger brother into the room they had given her earlier that day, removing her from her bedroom in the Tower of the Hand. Bran let out a severe scowl, which made him look more like their mother, his gray-green eyes flashing at the guard in mulish response.

As soon as he could, he straightened his shirt and gave the guard one last dirty look with a delicate sniff.

"You have one hour," the guard threatened, and then slammed the door shut.

Sansa was immediately racing across the floor and gathered her younger brother into a firm, tight hug. He squirmed away after collapsing against her for a brief moment.

"What's going on? Where's Father? Where's Arya?" burst from Sansa's mouth. "No one will tell me  _anything_!"

"Where were you when-?" Bran broke off, looking away. He reached up and hugged himself. "What happened to Septa Mordane?"

Surprise flickered over Sansa's face for a moment and then she paled. "She - She told me to run." Then, she was also looking away as she stepped back from her brother, her voice low. "I didn't. I didn't run when they came."

Bran stared.

"What?" snapped Sansa, crossing her arms defensively. "Why should I have run? There was no reason for me to-"

"Quite right, my dear."

Bran and Sansa's heads whipped around to face the tall, skinny man who entered the sitting room, his finely tailored tunic swishing just so behind him as he strode forward. There was a smile on his face but it didn't reach his gray-green eyes.

Bran's eyes - also gray-green - narrowed in speculation as they flitted over the man and then back to his sister, who edged towards him.

"You - You're Lord Baelish," said Sansa, her voice demure. She curtseyed, bowing her head; pleasure flitted across the man's face and Bran's heart began pounding in his chest. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, my dear Sansa," the man said, reaching forward and using two fingers to gently push up Sansa's chin - and face - in the process. "It really is all my pleasure."

He then turned to Bran. "Ah, yes, young Bran! Look at you!" His voice went soft. "Look at you…"

"Where's Septa Mordane?" asked Bran instead. "And father? Or Jory? Or Arya? What about Teddy or the Lady Granger?"

"As far as I know, Lord Stark and Lady Granger are well," began Baelish, his form stilling. "I am unsure about the others."

Sansa stifled a gasp behind her hands.

 _Bullshite,_  thought Bran, using a word he heard Teddy spit once. While he didn't understand the meaning, the context and tone was enough for him to use it appropriately.

"Why are you here?" asked Bran instead.

"Bran!" hissed Sansa, glaring daggers at him. He ignored her. "Lord Baelish, please; can I offer you a seat?"

"Why, thank you, Sansa," said Baelish, following the young teen as she led him to the set of chairs around a table with a carafe of wine. Baelish sat and Bran followed, grumbling under his breath as she played hostess and began to serve the man the wine. She pointedly did not give anything to her brother and decided then to pour a small portion of the wine for herself. "You have the same bearing as your mother."

Sansa's head jerked up, the red strands of her hair slipping over her shoulder forward as she did so. "You know Mother?" she asked eagerly.

"We grew up together," began Baelish, relaxing back into his seat and lacing his fingers together as he hooked them over his knee. "At Riverrun. Have you been?"

Bran and Sansa both shook their heads.

"Ah, it's quite nice," reminisced Baelish, with a small smile on his face. "Cat and I - pardon me, your mother Lady Stark - well, I was her little confidant, her plaything. She could tell me anything, anything at all. She told me about all the horses that she liked, the castle that she wanted to live in and the man that she wanted to marry - a Northerner with a jaw like an anvil."

Bran squinted his eyes just as Sansa squealed, "Uncle Brandon?"

Baelish nodded. "Yes, that was him."

"What was he like?" the question slipped out of Bran's mouth before he realized he had asked it; but a part of him wanted to know about his namesake, the man he was named after.

"Well, let's see. He looked much like your father, but with even longer hair," began Baelish, a thoughtful purse to his mouth. "Brash, though. He was led by his emotions rather than logic. A very skilled fighter." Baelish trailed off. "Yes, a very skilled fighter, indeed…"

"But he died," protested Sansa. "He mustn't have been  _that_  good a knight."

"Oh, but he was, dear Sansa," grinned Baelish, leaning forward over his legs to peer at the redhead. "You see, I challenged him to a duel. I mean, why not? I'd read all the stories. The little hero always beats the big villain in all the stories. In the end, though, your mother wouldn't even let him kill me." He shook his head and pitched his voice higher to mimic the words he had embedded into his brain. "' _He's just a boy_ ,' she said. ' _Please don't hurt him_.' So he gave me a nice little scar to remember him by, and off they went."

Sansa loudly gasped.

Bran stared at Baelish's covered chest. "Uncle Brandon did that?" there was a heavy dose of skepticism in his voice.

"He did," Baelish's voice was hard in return. "You don't believe me?" When Bran didn't speak, shrewd cat-like eyes glanced at the young teen. "You could always ask your mother since she was there."

"How? She's back in Winterfell," said Bran.

"Is she?" asked Baelish, leaning back again. "Well, as an old and dear friend to the Tullys, you could always pass on a message and I'll find a way to get them to her, without any of Varys' little birds or the Queen learning about it. Think of it as a secure, direct line of communication."

"Oh, that would be lovely!" cried Sansa.

 _Bullshite again_ , thought Bran, eyes narrowed.

"Now, the whole thing with your father is, I'm sure, a complete misunderstanding," continued Baelish. "I will, of course, do my best to help him with my position on the Small Council and sway the Queen Regent to pardon Lord Stark."

Sansa beamed. "You'd do that for us? Oh, thank you, Lord Baelish!"

"Of course my dear," replied Baelish, this time reaching out and running his hand through one of the long locks of Sansa's hair that slipped loose from her Southron updo when she had been tossed into the room earlier. A pink flush appeared on her cheeks.

"You know you can trust me with  _anything_." He glanced at Bran. "Both of you."

"But what will you do?" asked Bran, curious. "It was the Queen and her men who arrested Father and placed us in here!"

Baelish glanced at Bran. "What would you like me to do?"

Bran shrugged.

"Do you know what I learned, losing that duel to your uncle?" the man asked, and both Stark children shook their heads. "I learned that I'll never win, not that way. That's their game, their rules. And I'm not going to fight them."

"Then what will  _you_  do?" asked Bran, again.

Baelish's smile did not reach his eyes. "I'll upend the board, Bran. That's what I know. That's what I am. And only by admitting what we are can we get what we want: you getting free of here, back with your family."

"Thank you, Lord Baelish!" exalted a breathless Sansa.

"Yes, thank you, Lord Baelish," echoed Bran, but it lacked the same awe that his sister held for the man. However, Baelish was taken in enough by Sansa that he ignored Bran's less-than-enthusiastic reply.

A bang on the closed door had him glancing over. "Ah, I do believe my time is up now, children." He looked back at them. "Keep safe and your heads down. I will see you again soon, with hopefully a message from your mother."

"Goodbye!" chirped Sansa, rising with him as Baelish got to his feet. The man's tunic swished around his calves and he reached forward for Sansa's hand, lightly kissing the back of it.

"As always," he replied gallantly, glancing at Sansa as she almost swooned. He then nodded at Bran and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

The moment he did so, Bran said baldly, "I don't trust him."

Sansa spun to face him. "What? Why not? He knows Mother-"

"And he admitted to fighting Uncle Brandon for her," interrupted Bran, his childish voice cracking in his stress. "That is not something a friend of the Starks would do."

Sansa's face morphed to worry. "Do you think - can we - that is, can we trust him?"

Bran shook his head slowly. "I don't think we can trust  _anyone_ , San. Not anymore. Not here, anyway."

Slowly, Sansa sat back down in her chair, her face pale with fear.

Bran continued, "I think we're all alone now."

"And the lone wolf dies," finished the redhead in a whisper.

"The lone wolf dies," echoed Bran, just as despondent. He then turned to look out of the window, and the two children sat in silence.

* * *

Ned and Hermione were expecting Varys again when the proximity alert went off, so it was a surprise to see Cersei sweep into the dungeons with three Lannister guards at her back, each carrying a torch in one hand and their swords in the other.

The golden-haired woman glanced behind at them, and commanded coolly, "Leave us." She watched with impassive eyes as the guards hung the torches in empty handlebars beside the paired cell, and then retreat until they were around the corner in a semblance of privacy.

Cersei's green eyes swept over the two, and her lip curled into a slight sneer. "Well. Don't you both look rather… clean."

"It's not the worst prison I've been in," admitted Hermione easily, drawing Cersei's attention to her. "But I've also been in better over the years."

"You're japing with me," said Cersei after a long moment, staring at the brunette.

Hermione shrugged.

The three remained silent for some time, with Cersei's eyes flickering between Ned and Hermione. Ned, for his part, remained seated on the dirty floor against the wall, head tilted back and his eyes closed. He was completely disinterested in the conversation and made it obvious.

Hermione, on the other hand, leaned against the solid stone wall at the side, watching Cersei with her knowing amber eyes locked on the Queen.

Cersei awkwardly cleared her throat, feeling like a gangly teenager - that girl who went to Moggy the Witch. She didn't like that feeling very much.

"Have you ever wondered," began Hermione, her voice loud in the very silent part of the dungeons, despite its softness, "Why it's so easy for the Starks and Lannisters to hate each other? For them to fight? It's almost…  _too_  easy."

"You think someone set this up?" Cersei's eyes narrowed into dangerous green slits. "Someone is manipulating  _me_?"

Hermione shrugged. "You tell me. I'm not from here, remember?"

Cersei was silent for a long moment, staring hard at Hermione before turning her attention to Ned, who opened one eye, peeking out from underneath his unruly black hair, growing long in the dungeons.

"Who?" the queen demanded.

"Oh, I don't actually  _know_ ," replied Hermione breezily. "But it's someone who has something to gain from both of us fighting. From turning attention to us over them? Someone who wants chaos or revenge? Who knows - you've both enough enemies."

Ned, whose eyes were following Hermione through the shared bars between them, said, "I can think of a few."

Cersei felt her thoughts spin.  _It's entirely possible,_  she thought, standing rigid as the foreigner's words washed over her.  _People see the Lannisters as a threat; we're the richest, the most powerful house in the Seven Kingdoms; we have our reach_ everywhere _. Even Father's actions are considered to many cruel - people would take exception to that._

"I can think of some, as well," she finally admitted, losing some of her stiffness in her posture. She crossed her arms. "Stannis - he fled the city suddenly."

"That's because he learned the truth about your children," argued Ned. "I have no quarrel with him."

"What about Varys?" offered Hermione.

"The Spymaster has his own agenda, but he claims he's here for the realm," replied Ned.

Cersei sighed, "I agree. He served Aerys Targaryen before Robert. His loyalty is questionable, but he always tries to minimize damages wherever possible to keep the Seven Kingdoms functioning properly." She paused. "The Martells for both of us."

"Both?" asked a surprised Hermione, stepping away from her wall.

"My Father ordered Elia Martell's death, including that of her children to end the Targaryen line in the Keep," admitted Cersei, refusing to feel anything for the woman she had met a few times and disliked for stealing her position as Rhaegar's princess; although, in hindsight, it probably was for the best given how her story ended.

"And the Martells would dislike us Starks because it was Lyanna who Rhaegar took," finished Ned, frowning. "It's possible they'd want revenge."

"You can't have revenge on the dead," replied Hermione.

"No," rejoined Cersei, shaking her head, "But you can have revenge on those who are still alive who ordered things, or carried out the orders, or who may have known about the orders."

"Well." Hermione's thoughts turned inward and she began to reassess her knowledge; Ned knew the look well and watched fondly. "Then I suppose we have a leading contender."

"Oh, I can think of someone else who would want Ned Stark to fall spectacularly," gleefully said Cersei as she fixed her eyes on Ned.

With one knee bent up and the other stretched out, Ned looked indolent and lazy but he turned curious grey eyes on the golden-haired woman. "Oh?"

"Why, your wife, Lord Stark!" Cersei's tone was practically lyrical. "Lady Catelyn positively hates you; she wouldn't stop glaring at you every night at Winterfell. I can't imagine that things are well in Riverrun regarding that, either. And it's no secret that the Tullys and Lannisters are… uneasy allies at best and outright hostile at worst, given how my father spurned a betrothal between my brother and Lady Stark's sister."

Ned shrugged. "It's entirely possible. Although my goodfather, Hoster, has been ill and bedridden for some time. He's past his politicking days. It would be Edmure or Lysa whom Catelyn converses with."

"There is another," said Hermione, drawing attention back to herself.

"Who?" asked Cersei.

"Baelish," Hermione said his name quietly, so much so that Cersei had to strain to hear her in the silent dungeon.

Cersei found herself nodding before she consciously stopped. "Before the hunting trip, Baelish came to me with the idea of Robert drinking himself stupid on the trip so that it would be easier for him to make a mistake and get hurt. If he became hurt enough that it would lead to death, it would pave the way for Joffrey to become King and remove the Baratheons - and Starks - from any influence."

She carefully omitted that Baelish suggested that Granger's son also be killed, or that she herself decided the idea was a good one and used it for the hunting trip. But with the knowing look in the strange amber eyes watching her, as well as the upturned smirk, Cersei wasn't too sure she had fooled the woman.

Ned scowled. "I dislike that man."

"You and everyone else," sighed Hermione. "I've met him once and he creeps me out. Smug prick."

Cersei ruthlessly pushed the amusement felt at those words down. It wouldn't do to find a potential rival interesting. "You  _have_  heard the rumours, have you not, Stark?"

"Rumours?" grey eyes turned in Cersei's direction.

"That Baelish was the one to deflower your wife," the Queen practically purred, playing demure as she peered down at her fingernails. She glanced at the Warden of the North under long lashes. "He's spread that around the Red Keep and court for  _years_."

Ned frowned. "Has he?" something thoughtful flickered across his face, and then just as quickly, disappeared. "Interesting."

Cersei frowned. She had expected something more from the man. With a mental sigh, she flicked her eyes at the Granger woman, pursing her lips. Hermione was watching Ned, a furrow between her brows as she did so, and not for the first time, Cersei wondered about their history.

 _Something to consider later_ , she thought instead. Aloud, she asked, "Do we think it Baelish then?"

Hermione nodded. "I do."

Ned mimicked her, but his nod was slowly, his voice introspective and vague, as though he was still mentally caught up with something else. "I agree."

"Then what is our next step?"

"If we all agree that Baelish is the most likely culprit behind this, then we need to tread carefully," began Hermione. "He's dangerous."

Cersei wanted to scoff, and Hermione must have seen that in her face, because she continued, her voice hard, "Don't underestimate people. He's our most likely suspect, but it's hardly likely that he's working alone. There are too many things going on for that to be true."

"I wouldn't put it past Baelish to be working with several members of the Great Houses," agreed Cersei, conversationally. Her green eyes darted between Hermione and Ned. "What should be our next move, then, Lady Granger? Since you seem so clever?"

Hermione attempted to keep her preening low key, but the warm look on Ned's face indicated she failed. "I suggest we let the game continue."

"What?" the warm look faded.

But Cersei was nodding, a cruel little smirk on her red lips. "Yes, I do like that. Let the game play out so we can upset the board later."

"Why must we?" groaned Ned, his jaw tight. "Why can we not just confront the man? Between the City guards, and the Lannisters here, there is enough manpower to ensure Baelish doesn't escape-"

"Because then we won't know how far his reach extends," bit Cersei, her eyes flashing in warning. "By allowing Baelish to continue his game, we can learn how many people are on his payroll."

"And potentially learn his plans," agreed Hermione, frowning at Ned. "I know you don't like the idea-"

"It's not that I don't like it," muttered Ned, lowly, "It's just that I hate politics-"

"But," continued Hermione, speaking over him loudly, "It gives us time to also maneuver Baelish into a place where we  _can_  take him, his associates, and others down in one fell swoop."

"I could almost come to like you," complimented Cersei, an assessing gaze on Hermione, as she looked the witch up and down.

"I'll take that as the compliment it sounds," replied Hermione with an answering grin.

Ned stared at the two women in horrified silence.

"We need to make it look like we are taking the Queen's deal," began Hermione a moment later, glancing at Ned to include him in the conversation, "For everything to seem real."

"I am to take the Black, and you are to be banished?" confirmed Ned, glancing at Cersei.

She nodded. "I've been loudly offering that - I know your position and any ill-treatment would not look good on us. The Starks are an old family."

"True," agreed Ned.

Cersei and Hermione continued, adding and building to the plan as they both spoke, their voices raising an excitement as they began to speak over one another.

"So you'll tell the Small Council that Ned's agreed-"

"-Seeking the King's pardon, generously given in a public speech, of course-"

"Naturally. And I'll make a big show of getting on a boat headed for - where? What do you think?"

"Yi Ti," chuckled Cersei, "The furthest we can send you-"

"Excellent. But I'll double back later to the North-"

"-Where you'll meet up with Stark-"

"-Who  _won't_  be taking the Black-"

"-of course not; but he will be laying low-"

"-can we even trust those Northerners to play along?" there was a wrinkle to Cersei's nose.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course-"

"-Very well, and in that time, I will have those under me investigate quietly-"

"-Finding connections-"

"-Until Baelish makes a mistake-"

"-And then-" Hermione's voice rose when she said, "BAM!" making Ned jump.

"We'll arrest him on corruption charges, conspiracy to murder, and anything else we can throw at him," finished Cersei.

Hermione added slyly, "And perhaps Robert's death as well, to exonerate Lord Eddard Stark?"

Cersei's eyes narrowed, but she nodded slowly. "I think that can be arranged, so long as we can come to a working arrangement."

Ned's head, which had been bouncing back and forth between the two women as they spoke, finally managed a word in edgewise: "What arrangement? Hermione? What are you agreeing to?"

Without taking her eyes off Cersei, Hermione spoke. "I've just ensured that any criminal records are expunged, Ned. I've cleared your name - so long as we work  _with_  the Lannisters."

"Lannisters and Starks don't get along." The flat line of Ned's mouth indicated his displeasure.

"They do now," replied Hermione, cutting her eyes at her soul mate. Her hard tone told Ned he shouldn't respond, and if he had something to say, he could do so in private later.

"Excellent," purred a pleased Cersei, looking at the two. "Now that  _that_  is all done, there's just one, small, outstanding issue to consider…"

"What?" bit out Ned.

"Well, my darling Joffrey becomes King," finished Cersei, bringing her fingertips to her mouth to play at the edges in a coy fashion.

Ned exhaled loudly, looking at Cersei from beneath a heavy brow as he grit between his teeth, grinding his molars, "I am already publicly admitting to this charade; once this is all done, so long as you don't bother the North, we won't bother you."

"You won't tell anyone what you know?" the words were delivered in a light, genial manner, but the hard stare Cersei levelled at Ned promised death.

"I won't  _tell_  another soul," replied Ned, emphasizing 'tell.' From the corner of his eye, he saw rather than heard, Hermione sigh. "I swear it."

There was a tense silence as the solemn vow hung in the air between the three until Cersei's tense frame loosened. A small smile appeared on her lips, and her face - usually framed by hard, bitter lines - softened.

"If anyone else said they swore it on their reputation, I wouldn't believe them. But I would believe Ned Stark," she said, her voice soft. "Very well. We have a deal."

Cersei gave one last, long look at both the prisoners, and then spun on her heel, meeting with the guards she had dismissed just beyond the hallway. As she left, the light faded until Hermione and Ned stood in darkness, holding their breaths.

"Splitting hairs," said Hermione finally. "Nicely done."

"Well, she didn't ask if I had already let people know, did she?" he replied idly. "Rather careless of her. And then to focus on speaking to someone else?" Hermione couldn't see him but heard the rustle of his shirt to indicate he shrugged. "She should've chosen her words more carefully."

"I never thought I'd see you do something like that," said Hermione slowly.

"Well," replied Ned, his voice grim, "Let's just say, I learned my lesson. I may not like it, Hermione, but that doesn't mean I don't know how to play the game." He paused. "And this time? I'm playing to win."

* * *

There were many parts to the plan, but Hermione was confident. Cersei felt that she had good control of the situation and that Varys and Pycelle could easily go along with her plan to have Ned take the Black and for Hermione to be exiled.

The three of them would, of course, know that neither of those things would happen - but it was a start to flush out those trying to push the Lannisters and Starks into full-out war (Cersei had already mentioned that Robb had called the banners and was planning on moving south toward King's Landing shortly to avenge his father's incarceration.).

Hermione was also completely sure in her abilities to use her magic and keep Ned safe - but even she had to admit to herself that when they stepped out from the dungeons and the quiet passages that led to the Sept of Baelor, the onslaught of insults and sheer  _hatred_  that the crowd exuded was terrifying.

_"Traitor!"_

" _Coward!"_

" _Whore! Traitor!"_

" _Bitch! Traitor!"_

The two were forced to stand side-by-side, their hands encased in rusty iron shackles that were also tied together to discourage any one person from escaping and leaving the other behind. They stood off to the side on the interlock patio that led into the Sept, while to their left stood the Small Council (what remained of them), the Queen, Joffrey - who had been crowned King a day earlier - and Sansa and Bran.

The two younger Starks were under guard by a hulking figure with a burned half to his face; both looked painfully thin and pale, although Sansa remained composed in front of the crowd. Bran, as the youngest, had less decorum and was struggling against the large man's meaty hand holding him in place by Bran's shoulder.

Someone in the crowd threw a piece of rotten vegetable, but Hermione saw and twitched a single finger, casting  _protego_. It hit the invisible shield, but both she and Ned skillfully dodged and it looked like the person missed. The crowd hissed.

 _I don't want to do this,_  a grumpy voice sang across Hermione's bond. The witch glanced at her side, where Ned's downturned lips matched his mental voice.

Hermione expertly plucked at their connection - the bond stronger than ever now that they had spent time together and mentally reinforced it with their conversations - and reminded him,  _It's a show. We both know the truth, and right now - compromising on your honour saves not only your life but allows you to fight again later. You can't win the game if you're dead, Ned._

At her side, he gave a great sigh.

"-that Lord Stark will have something to say?" Pycelle finished speaking in his reedy voice.

Taking the cue, Ned cut a glance at the Small Council and at Cersei, who raised her eyebrows in response. With a sigh, Ned stepped forward slightly, the joined chains between their hands clanking loudly as he did so. The crowd went silent.

"I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King. I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of Gods and men," the man grimaced as he spoke, but an encouraging  _twang_ on the bond he shared with Hermione had him continue. "I betrayed the faith of my King and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold I plotted to murder his son…" he looked at Sansa and Bran, who were staring at him with wide eyes, "and seize the Throne for myself."

" _Traitor!_ "

While Ned spoke, Hermione found herself surveying the crowd at the steps of the Sept of Baelor. The majority were angry small folk - as they called their lower class citizens - but there were a few of the higher-born ladies and lords in attendance near the back with their personal guards. Several gold cloaks lined the perimeter, and at the base of the large statue of Baelor, Hermione caught a flash of blue that turned Gryffindor red before blue again.

_Ted!_

She narrowed her eyes and focused on calling her magic to her; like answered to like as she cast it out over the crowd. Most, too emotional to notice, ignored the sweep. Others shivered as they felt something in the air change.

Her magic pinged back - Teddy replying with his own wash and a jaunty finger-flick against his temple as she found him half-up the statue base, staring directly at her. He tilted his head at Ned and raised an eyebrow.

Hermione subtly shook her head. She didn't need help - not yet, anyway.

Teddy settled back, eyes watchful.

"- has confessed his crimes in sight of Gods and men. The Gods are just but beloved Baelor taught us they can also be merciful," droned on Pycelle as Ned finished proclaiming Joffrey as rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. The resignation on his face was clear for everyone to see.

Pycelle then turned to the young king, only a year younger or so than Teddy but crueler than Draco Malfoy had ever been to Hermione growing up. "What is to be done with this traitor, Your Grace?"

The young king stepped forward, a swagger that Hermione was sure he practiced in the privacy of his room. He held out a hand for the crowd to quiet from their jeers and calls and turned to face his mother as he began to speak. "My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch. Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile."

His voice was honeyed but Hermione shivered when he turned to Sansa, who smiled vapidly at him. "And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father.

"Furthermore, both have asked that his whore be sent into exile, far from Westeros and never to return. But my Mother and my Lady have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your King, treason shall never go unpunished," the honeyed voice turned sour quickly and Hermione felt her heart stop beating for a wild moment as panic seized her. "Ser Ilyn, bring me their heads!"

Her eyes darted to Cersei, who looked equally shocked for a moment before she leaned down and began muttering to her son even as he waved her off. " _My son, this is madness-"_

Sansa and Bran began adding their voices to the clamour of the crowd, and Hermione stood frozen next to Ned as Ser Ilyn, a large, hulking man with cruel eyes began to walk towards them, dragging a heavy sword that Hermione recognized.

" _No! Stop! Daddy!"_

" _Someone stop him!"_

" _Put him down!"_

" _Traitor!"_

Ned's wide eyes met Hermione's for a wild moment before two gold cloaks strode forward and manhandled them toward a block of wood set aside from the main steps where they were standing.

 _Hermione-?_  Ned sent across their bond, his mental voice tinged with panic, and strangely, utter defeat.

 _Oh, no,_  she thought.  _This wasn't part of the plan_.

* * *

TBC...


End file.
